The Knife in his Side
by Professor McGonagal
Summary: Clove won the 74th Hunger Games and returns home to District Two, where glory, riches, and even love await her. But the third Quarter Quell slowly approaches and who knows what horrors those little yellow envelopes hold? Clato. Please read, enjoy and review! :)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or anything else that may be referenced. **

**The Knife in his Side**

**Chapter 1**

Clove smirked from behind a dense clump of bushes, watching as the District Twelve girl approached the Cornucopia, just as the cannon signalled the death of the District Five girl, with the red hair. She, Clove, had discovered the District Twelves little cave days before, and had planned out her kills carefully upon hearing of the feast. She had spotted the District Five girl stealing food early on in the Games, but had kept the information to herself, feeling she could use it later; and she did once she realised the berries in the bushes near the Twelves cave were poisonous. They had to be, otherwise why weren't they eating them? So before leaving for the feast she had made a little bundle of berries with the aid of a leaf and had allowed them to fall from her pocket as she sprinted off towards the Cornucopia. It seemed that as she hoped, District Five had been watching and had eaten them.

Twelve started slightly upon hearing the cannon and suddenly broke into a run, heading straight for the bag marked with her number. Just as her fist closed around the bag, Clove threw her knife and immediately darted to a new clump of bushes. The strangled gasp and boom from the cannon that followed told her that her knife had sailed true, as she knew it would. _Two down_, Clove thought. _Two to go. _Out of the corner of her eye, Clove saw a large silhouette turn and dart back the way it had come. _Eleven_, she thought, and followed, slipping almost naturally into the shadowing formations they taught in Peacekeeper Training back in Two.

Cato watched as Clove shadowed Thresh, from the safety of his grandmother's workshop. He had volunteered as tribute, but another boy; a conceited, over confident fifteen year old called Angus had put his hand up first. He had died on day eight. Cato had been bitter at first after the reaping: he and Clove had made a pact when they were seven that one day, they would enter the arena together, but now he cared little, for he knew that Clove was going to come home, and that was all that mattered to him; that he would get to train with her, flirt with her and snicker at her insults again.

Clove paused as Eleven, as she thought of him, ran into a corn field. He had the advantage now, despite the fact she had been shadowing him. She considered for a moment, then darted after him. She could practically hear Cato calling her an idiot.

"You STUPID IDIOT!" Cato hollered at his TV. His grandmother jumped violently and dropped her sewing.

"Cato!" she snapped. "Go shout at your girlfriend through the TV somewhere else: I'm busy."

"She's not my girlfriend," Cato replied automatically.

"Well, she's about to be your ex-girlfriend, quite literally," his grandfather replied, grinning, traditionally ignoring his grandson's protests. "What on earth is she thinking?"

"What's she done?" Cato's grandmother asked, her sewing now forgotten. "Ooh, she's not followed that Thresh bloke into the corn field has she?"

Cato made no response, staring hypnotised at the screen.

"Look at him, Aella!" his grandfather nodded to Cato. "Sweating buckets, he is!"

"Shut up Caderyn!" his grandmother absently waved a knitting needle at her husband. "She's about to get him!"

"C'mon, Clover," Cato murmured. Caderyn's lips twitched, but he too, was captivated by the Games.

Clove, having pulled the knife with the longest blade she had, progressed deeper into the cornfield, following Eleven. When he suddenly ventured right, however, she darted left and kept moving, her knife held in the hand closest to Eleven.

She realised the second she moved that she had made a mistake. Eleven suddenly barrelled into her, picked her up as though she was a rag doll wrenched her knife from her grip, and dropped her into a clearing. Clove rolled backwards, her left hand fumbling inside her jacket for her last and smallest knife, the knife she saved for emergencies. She stood up as Eleven approached her, her long bladed knife glittering from his hand. They began to circle each other.

"Don't taunt him, don't taunt him, don't taunt him," Cato chanted softly, his teeth buried him his knuckles.

Her small knife now firmly secured in her hand, Clove suddenly felt a lot more confident.

"You're holding it wrong," she informed Eleven, nodding to her knife. Many miles away, Cato groaned loudly.

"You kill Rue?" Eleven asked Clove.

"Rue?" Clove repeated, puzzled. "Oh, the girl tribute from your district? No, I didn't. That was Marvel, from District One. The Twelve girl killed him."

"And you killed Twelve." Eleven said. "I saw you."

With that he charged. Clove leapt backwards and flung her knife with all her strength. It sailed harmlessly over Eleven's right shoulder.

Clove moved to the left. "You're still holding my knife wrong." She remarked, dodging his first strike.

Eleven laughed. "What about you? I thought they say you never miss a throw."

She dodged his second strike and leapt forward, then right, seeing something silver zooming towards them. "I don't."

The small knife plunged deep into the side of Eleven's neck. He froze, choked and fell forward at her feet. The cannon boomed. Clove stepped forward and prised her long bladed knife from his fingers. The small silver letters of the word BOOMERANG gleamed at her from the handle of the small knife.

All was silent as Clove ran through the area, back towards the Twelves cave. She had no real reason to run, she just wanted to go home.

The Twelve boy was sleeping when she entered the cave. Clove winced as she caught sight of the deep gash Glimmer had inflicted on him when she had been stung by the tracker jacker venom: She had managed to grab the knife, she, Clove used to kill a lizard either that night and had thrown it after the Twelve girl. But despite the power of her throw, Glimmer's aim had been off and the knife had sunk into the Twelve boy's leg, and the wound had, it seemed, become badly infected. As Clove approached him, his breathing slowed, then ceased. He was dead.

Clove turned and left the cave, heading back to the Cornucopia. She emerged through the trees into the clearing, just as the cannon boomed and Claudius Templesmith's voice echoed loudly around the area. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I AM PLEASED TO PRESENT THE VICTOR OF THE SEVENTY-FOURTH HUNGER GAMES, CLOVE MARCAN. I GIVE YOU; THE TRIBUTE FROM DISTRICT TWO!"

A ship suddenly flew into the area, a ladder falling from a door as it paused. Clove ran to meet the ship and climbed onto the ladder, holding on tightly with one hand, and she waved to the arena and the nation of Panem as she was lifted upwards towards the ship. But it was only after she was safely aboard the ship and the door had been slammed shut behind her did a small, relieved smile cross her face. She had done it. She had won. She would see her family, and her district. She would train, swap insults, and flirt with Cato.

She was going home.

Clove was led into a small room behind a glass panel, where she accepted a glass of orange juice from a Capitol attendant and sipped it gently, savouring the taste.

Soon, they had landed on the roof of the Training Centre in the Capitol. As Clove drained the last of the juice, a wave of exhaustion swept over her, and she knew no more.

* * *

><p>Many miles away, in District Two, Cato was training.<p>

For exactly what reason, he had no clue. It just felt good to work.

He stood fifteen yards from a dummy that was rapidly moving towards him, a spear in one hand, sweat pouring from his temples after an intense hour of constant lifting, throwing and fighting. Lifting his arm over his head, Cato flung the spear and knew without looking that it had flown true. A beep sounded around the training room, indicating the level complete. Grabbing his bag from a corner, Cato pulled out a towel and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Not bad." Cato whirled around, startled.

Caderyn leant against the door to the training room, his eyes moving from corner to corner, taking in the various dummies that were either decapitated, stabbed, or sporting large dents. "I've seen you do better though."

"Yeah, well, Clove's not here," Cato defended himself. "She used to wait until I had beaten level thirteen then switch to custom and send God knows what after me from the comfort of a plush leather swivel chair."

"You did the same to her," Caderyn pointed out. Cato grinned sheepishly. "Speaking of your girlfriend," Caderyn laughed at Cato's protest. "Your grandmother sent me; her interview's about to start."

"'Kay," Cato pulled a water bottle from his bag and twisted of the cap. Draining the whole bottle in one, he followed his grandfather from the room and up the stairs to the kitchen, where his grandmother was cooking. The Capitol seal glared out at them from the TV accompanied by blaring, rather obnoxious anthem of Panem. Cato and Caderyn sat down at the dining table as Caesar Flickerman appeared on the screen.

"GOOD EVENING PANEM!" he beamed around at the screaming crowd. "GOOD EVENING AND WELCOME TO THE AFTERMATH OF THE SEVENTY-FOURTH HUNGER GAMES!"

Cato tuned out as Clove's prep team, Trariti Krimnet; Two's escort, and Clove's stylist came up through the floor, followed by Brutus and Enobaria.

"AND NOW," Caesar roared as Brutus and Enobaria took their seats. "PLEASE WELCOME, THE VICTOR OF THE SEVENTY-FOURTH HUNGER GAMES: CLOVE MARCAN!"

The applause and screams intensified as Clove rose upwards from beneath the stage, and Cato's jaw dropped slightly. Her hair was thick and glossy and fell around her shoulders in perfect waves. Her dress was strapless, skin tight to her knees, and was made of a scaly looking material the colour of burnt brick. Her shoes were black with very pointed, very high heels. Her finger and toe nails- which could be seen through a hole at the end of her shoes- were painted a rich, blood red. She looked beautiful and mysterious at the same time, but predominantly, she looked dangerous. Deadly. And Cato absolutely loved it.

"You're drooling," Aella informed her grandson, setting a plate down in front of him.

"It's the smell of the food," Cato answered, wiping his chin all the same.

"Of course it is; the smell of salad carries." Caderyn grinned at him.

A smile tugged at the corners of Aella's lips. "Caderyn, be nice." She chided, sitting down and turning to Cato. "She looks amazing, doesn't she?"

"Yeah." Cato smiled, not taking his eyes off the screen. "She does."

* * *

><p>Clove seemed to freeze inside as she watched the seventy-fourth Hunger Games as Panem must have seen it, all the way from the reaping to her waving to the arena at the end of the games. So that was how she <em>looked<em>. At times she laughed and joked with Glimmer, Marvel and Angus, but for the most part her face was carefully devoid of emotion. However as she watched, Clove remembered how she had _felt_. She remembered the fear that her allies would turn on her that had eaten at her insides, the determination that had replaced it, once she had realised that it was either her, or them; that it was either kill, or be killed. But most of all, she remembered the loneliness, and the longing to return home that had purged her mind of all happiness, slowly begun to turn her crazy, and how it had only been the thought of "if I win, I go home,' that had kept her sane.

As the replay concluded, the anthem blared from hidden speakers and President Snow appeared on the stage, followed by a young girl, who was carrying the gold victor's crown. The entire room stood, and President Snow placed the crown atop Clove's head, smiling. Clove smiled back mechanically and waved to the crowd and Panem as Caesar concluded the event with a reminder to tune in tomorrow, when he would be having an exclusive interview with the victor.

The replay was followed by a banquet at the President's house. Clove ate little, due to the constant picture-taking, handshaking, and conversations she was expected to participate in.

She was awoken early the next morning by Enobaria.

"What is it?" she asked, sitting up in bed.

"Trariti says you have to get up, and I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?" Clove asked.

"You. Brutus and I have been talking, and we've agreed that the Capitol doesn't know you. I mean, they know you, but this is what they see: a small girl from district two who scrubs up well, and whose weapon of choice is a knife. Sure, when you made it into the final six, they did a personal story on you, but they don't really know who you are, aside from what you demonstrated in your pre-Games interview: that you're determined; and if they don't know you, they can't love you, and believe me, life is so much easier if you're loved in the Capitol." Enobaria grinned, revealing her pointed teeth. "So, I decided to offer you some advice; you don't have to follow it, but I'll tell you anyway. During your interview today, be talkative, bubbly, amusing and sarcastic. Make them fall in love with you. If you have to, imagine you're at home with that Cato guy, because honestly, I've been around you for nearly a month now, and throughout this whole thing, you've never been even half as relaxed as you are around him."

"You've been watching me, have you?" Clove asked, getting out of bed.

"I watch everyone, darling," Enobaria laughed, approaching the door. "It's how I survive."

Clove considered Enobaria's advice as Duvessa, Malaika and Axel, her prep team, prepared her for her interview with Caesar Flickerman. Then Quintessa, her stylist, arrived, carrying a garment bag.

"I thought we'd go with something a little closer to home today," she said, pulling a dress from the bag.

It was white, floor length, and sleeveless, made from the same material as the peacekeepers outfits. The collar would rest on her collar bones. Clove recognised the style instantly. "Aella made this."

"Yep." Quintessa grinned.

"Who's Aella?" Axel asked interestedly.

"She's the grandmother of a friend," Clove replied as she slipped into the dress.

"Well, your friend is very lucky," Malaika said as they walked to the sitting room down the hallway, where the interview would be held. "That dress is very well made: she must have the most beautiful dresses."

Clove laughed at the thought of Cato in a dress, but before she could reply they reached the sitting room, and she found herself being hustled away from her team by Trariti.

"Come on, come on, you're late!"

They were actually right on time, but to Trariti, right on time was late.

Caesar Flickerman was already installed in one of the two cream armchairs that stood amongst several pots of flowers before an array of cameras. He smiled at Clove as Trariti deposited her in the second armchair and bustled away, muttering darkly about 'keeping to a schedule.'

Clove smiled back at Caesar and out of the corner of her eye, saw Brutus and Enobaria slip into the room, just as someone counted back from five and the cameras began to roll.

"Good afternoon everyone, I am Caesar Flickerman, and I'm here this afternoon with the victor of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Clove Marcan, of District Two. Hello, Clove."

"Good afternoon, Caesar," Clove replied smiling. "I'm very happy to be here."

"As am I that you are," Caesar smiled back. "Now, let's get right down two it! I'd suggest your big moment in the Games began when the feast was announced, care to tell us about that?"

"Yeah, well, when you're in the arena, you start to go a little crazy after a while," Clove laughed sheepishly. "Well, at least I did, and when the announcement about the feast happened, I thought to myself: if I play my cards right, I could win this. So I planned it, and as you saw the plan didn't go exactly to, well, plan, but I turned it around and here I am."

"Quite, quite," Caesar agreed. "You say the plan went a bit awry? Would you say it was when Thresh attacked you?"

Clove nodded. "That was the one moment when I thought; 'it's over' but I remembered the boomerang knife."

"They're rather unusual, those boomerang knives, aren't they?" Caesar remarked. "Speaking of knives, you do seem to have a penchant for them, in combat."

Clove smiled. "Well I am smaller than most in my district, and I was always in awe of tributes in the games who could throw knives from long distances and hit their targets when I was small, and it inspired me to learn how to handle knives when I got older. Though, between you and I," Clove leaned forward confidentially and Caesar followed suit, curious. "If you asked me to chop vegetables, I wouldn't know where to begin."

Caesar laughed, throwing his head back. "You're secret's safe with us, Clove." He winked at the cameras. Enobaria grinned at Clove from the corner.

"Now, Clove," Caesar continued. "I don't know if you were aware, but there was quite the love affair going on in the area, between Katniss and Peeta from District Twelve. You found their little hiding spot, I know, but where you aware that they were romantically involved?"

"I knew he liked her, obviously," Clove replied, pausing to choose her words carefully. "But I didn't know she had similar feelings; she never seemed to treat him as though she did, in the time we were all together before the arena. If I had known, well, I think I would have waited a little longer to give them more time together, but ultimately; they would have killed me, and now I take comfort from the fact they are together for all eternity."

Caesar sighed softly. "I think we all will take comfort from that. But, speaking of romance," he raised his eyebrows teasingly, and Clove was slightly alarmed by his sudden change of mood, and that of those from the Capitol in the room the moment Caesar's second sentence was uttered. "Do you have a special someone back in District Two? That handsome young man that was interviewed for your personal story, perhaps?"

"Cato?" Clove asked. Caesar chuckled, smirking at the cameras.

"I mention handsome, and instantly she knows!"

Enobaria and Brutus and those from the Capitol laughed softly.

Clove willed her cheeks not to redden.

"We're joking, Clove!" Caesar placed a hand on her shoulder affectionately, pausing only to drop a very pointed wink to the cameras. "No, but really, if you could say anything to your loved ones, what would it be?" He gestured to the camera closest to her, and Clove turned to face it.

"Well, firstly, hello; I guess," she snickered, then continued. "Father, I hope you're healthy and I made you proud; and I'm looking forward to seeing you again. Cato, I hope you and your family are healthy and I'm looking forward to seeing you all again," a smirk curled around her lips. "Also Cato, I hope you've been training, because the first thing I'm going to do when I get home is kick your butt in training. Again. Repeatedly. Blindfolded, balanced on one leg with one hand and three fingers tied behind my back."

"Oooh!" Caesar laughed. "I think we'll have to get that on tape. Well, Clove: it's been a pleasure to have you, and I look forward to seeing you as a mentor in the Quarter Quell!"

"Yes, that should be interesting. Thank you Caesar." Clove smiled as the Capitol anthem blared.

"…Cut! Great job everyone!" someone said.

"We're out, Clove!" Trariti called. Clove said goodbye to Caesar and was immediately swamped by her prep team as she got up. Barely paying attention to their endless stream of chatter, Clove followed them to a car with blackened out windows where she found Brutus and Enobaria awaiting her.

"They loved you, darling," Enobaria cried as Clove fastened her seatbelt, "and after the victory tour they'll be worshiping the targets your knives hit, trust me."

Brutus laughed, leaning forward to consider Clove from beside Enobaria. "Can you really beat Cato blindfolded, balanced on one leg with one hand and three fingers tied behind your back? Because, no offense; he's about four times your size."

"None taken," Clove shrugged, "and I can hold a knife with two fingers."

Brutus shook his head. "You're crazy."

"Perhaps," Clove grinned.

The roar from the crowd on the platform of District Two's train station could be heard even before the train rounded the corner. Clove stood behind Brutus and Enobaria as the train came a halt at the station and the entrance to the train slid open. Brutus and Enobaria stepped onto the platform first, then a moment later, Clove followed, the roar now deafening.

Her father, a senior Peacekeeper, stood before her, smiling proudly. It was the first time Clove had seen him smile since the training incident that had killed both her mother and Cato's parents, almost four years ago, and as her father hugged her, Clove wondered if it wouldn't be the last. "I'm very, very, proud of you." Her father murmured. "You have brought pride not only to your district, but to your family." He pulled away from her and nodded to his right, grinning, "Now, go away."

Laughing, Clove turned. Cato, Aella and Caderyn stood a little way back.

"You've never beaten me in training," Cato smirked as he approached her.

"I always beat you in training," Clove smirked back, wrapping her arms around him as he hugged her, standing on the tips of her toes to burying her face in his neck.

"I missed you," he whispered.

"I missed you, too." She replied softly, suddenly wishing time would freeze.

But, all too soon, it seemed, Brutus was coughing pointedly and she was forced to pull away. Nevertheless, Clove smiled as she greeted Aella and Caderyn and Enobaria lead the way from the train station to the Justice Building. She was home. Safe.

She wondered, a long time later, why she had had no premonition.

**A/N: Please review! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or anything else that may be referenced. **

**A/N: Massive thank you to you all for reading, reviewing, following and favouring this story. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! :)**

**Chapter 2**

Clove rolled across the training room floor, dodging the swipe of an axe. Cato laughed.

"Come on Clove, kill him already."

"Shut up," Clove retorted through gritted teeth, sweat pouring from her brow into her eyes. Cato sniggered, twirling the gear stick around with ease, directing the axe wielding robot after Clove as she leapt from the floor and scaled up the mesh wire to the ceiling, a knife between her teeth.

"Do you surrender?" Cato asked.

"No; and I get the feeling you're enjoying this," Clove said, leaping from the wire to the ground and rolling between the robot's legs towards the other side of the room.

"You know it." Cato winked at her. "No, you don't!"

Too late. Clove had already leapt up at the robot, striking out with her knife. It smashed the robot in its eye and sawed through to the other side of its head, killing it.

"Yes, I do." Clove smirked at him.

"That was a present," Cato pouted at her.

"You'll fix it." Clove wiped the sweat from her brow and grinned up at him. "What's next?"

Cato grinned back, standing up. "Want to fight me?"

Clove threw him a sword. "I'm in the mood for a picnic."

He laughed and charged.

Half an hour later, they were still fighting. Cato grunted in frustration as Clove parred another well placed strike with a flick of her long bladed knife and leapt up onto the mesh wire, using his shoulder as a launch pad. She looked as exhausted as he felt, but Cato knew there was no truce when they fought. They kept going until one ate dirt, or surrendered.

She surprised him suddenly by dropping her knife and falling from the wire, pushing him to the ground and landing on the floor beside him. Clove made the most of his surprise, pulling a training knife from inside her jacket and pressing it against his throat. _Five more seconds, _she wished. "G-."

She paused as Cato's hands found her waist. Her wish had been rebutted. She found herself squirming and she giggled as Cato began to tickle her.

"You were saying, Clove?" Cato grinned as he rolled onto his stomach. Clove was incredibly, unbelievably, embarrassingly ticklish; and it was a secret only the two of them knew, like only the two of them knew that he was deathly terrified of bees.

Clove could only alternate between trying to glare at him and laughing until tears poured down her cheeks as he tickled her mercilessly. "Do you surrender?"

Clove gasped for breath. "You're insufferable."

He snickered. "Can't stand you either."

"Cato? Clove?" Aella's voice echoed from the doorway at the top of the stairs. Cato stopped tickling Clove abruptly. "Are you down here? Lunch's ready."

"Oof!" Cato groaned as Clove's fist buried itself into his stomach, more from surprise than pain. Within seconds her knee was in his back, his arms were twisted in a complicated, and potentially painful - if she choose to pull harder-, manner and were being held above his head by one of Clove's hands, the other being gripped firmly around her knife, which was once again pressed against his neck. Her lips brushed against his ear, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine as she whispered, "Game."

"What are you two doing?" Aella asked, descending the staircase to the training room, and taking in the various severed dummies and broken robots, as well as the various swords and knives that littered the floor.

"Training," Clove said with a smile, letting Cato up.

"You won, did you?" Aella laughed. "Good girl."

"Who's side are you on?!" Cato asked his grandmother indignantly, straightening up.

"Clove's," she replied good-naturedly. "She won, after all."

"Though I think I bruised my knuckle," Clove remarked, examining her finger as Aella climbed back up the stairs.

"That'll be my abs of steel," Cato smirked at Clove, flinging an arm around her shoulders. She laughed, settling into his side as they followed Aella to the kitchen.

"I'll never play the flute again."

"Thank God. I wasn't sure how to break it to you how much you sucked at the flute; now I don't have too."

Aella raised an eyebrow as they entered the kitchen, having heard the end of Cato's sentence. "Do you play the flute Clove?"

Clove shook her head. "No, but I reckon I'll have to start at some point: I have to have a talent now."

"Call me when the talent searching starts," Cato said. "That'll be hilarious."

"Cato, be nice," Aella frowned at him. "Have you filled out those forms I gave you?"

"No," Cato replied. "It, er, slipped my mind."

"Tut, tut," Clove waggled her finger at him, smirking.

"Do it after you've eaten, Cato." Aella said. "I know you're seventeen and you've already been through the training for the Elite Corps, but they'll revoke your place if you don't fill in those forms."

"No they won't," Cato protested, swallowing a bite of sandwich, "I beat their record time by 59.8 seconds. I'm too good to let go."

"Not to mention modest," Clove put in.

"Yes, and modest."

Clove left Cato's house after lunch and headed back home to the Victor's Village, because, as Aella put it, 'that way he would have half a chance of actually getting his work done, no offence.'

It was strange to let herself in to an enormous white house knowing the entire place was hers and hers alone. Her father, being a senior peacekeeper, had quarters over at the training centre behind the school and had no reason or desire to move almost across the whole district to the Victors Village. He trusted that Clove could take care of herself and had a key should he ever wish to drop in.

Flicking on the lights to various rooms as she made her way through the house, Clove ran upstairs to the bathroom and showered and changed quickly, her soft cotton shorts and tank top soothing against her skin after the harsh suits worn by the people of Two when training. She spent the afternoon sprawled across the sofa in her living room, flicking through the channels on her TV and wondering half-heartedly what her talent would be.

After dinner, it was around nine pm when she decided to go to bed. She took a knife with her and placed it on her beside cabinet, and left her ensuite bathroom's light on, but with the door shut. Then she sat upright in bed, telling herself over and over that tonight she would be fine, that her nightmares were over; last nights were the last.

* * *

><p>She was in the arena, curled comfortably in the middle of a gorse bush she had made into a shelter. It faced away from the Twelves cave, yet she could hear them talking softly. Her grip tightened around her knife as a cricket chirped nearby. She dared not sleep, just in case Five came and found her. Her eyes itched with tiredness but she forced herself to stay awake by playing the same tedious word game she had been playing for at least a week while she hunted down the Twelves. One more night, Clove reminded herself as her eyes drifted shut. <em>Tomorrow's the feast, then it will be over. It will be over.<em> Suddenly, she was ripped out of her shelter and thrown. She crumpled in a heap onto rough, shaven, wheat. Clove barely had the time to straighten and reach for a knife before Eleven pounced, swinging a machete at her head like a madman. His eyes were wide and crazed.

"You killed Twelve. I saw you," he snarled, and it that moment, she saw it too as she had when she had watched the games as Panem saw it. She saw Twelve grab the bag, saw her knife leave her hand and spin with expert, practised precision, towards Twelves left shoulder blade, timed and angled so that when the other girl moved, it would pierce her skin. But just as the tip of the knife kissed Twelve's jacket, Twelve twisted and it was Cato who fell to the ground in a pool of blood. Clove screamed, lashing out and striking every bit of Eleven she could reach, desperate-

_RRIIIINNNNNGGG!_

Clove awoke with a gasp, and as she struggled to sit up in bed she found herself tangled in the sheets, a mixture of cold sweat and tears on her cheeks. She sat still for a moment, catching her breath and getting her bearings. Her clock informed her that it was 9:30 am as she swung her legs out of bed and got up, padding down the stairs to answer the doorbell, wiping the tears and sweat from her cheeks.

Cato stood on the doorstep, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. He smiled as she opened the door and opened his mouth to speak, but then his eyes found hers and he closed it abruptly and pulled her into a hug. "What is it?" he murmured as he pulled away.

"Nightmares," she whispered. "Every night since the Games."

"Do you want hot chocolate?" he asked, knowing that if she wanted to tell him more she would've done, and he knew that she knew he would listen when and if she did.

She nodded, "Please."

"Okay," he smiled. "Well, why don't you go take a shower and get dressed and all that, and I'll find your kitchen, make you breakfast and break your Capitol-edition toaster thinking it's a kettle?"

She laughed softly. "Sounds good."

"Right, then," Cato handed Clove a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of toast some ten minutes later and joined her on the sofa in the living room. "What channels have you got on this thing?" he picked up the remote control to the TV as he spoke.

"Everything you can think of, I think." Clove sipped her drink and sighed. "This is amazing, thank you."

"You're welcome," Cato grinned. He found a Capitol soap opera marathon that was just beginning and his grin grew wider. "Mindless entertainment, perfect!" He glanced around and spotted a box of tissues, "and we have tissues for when we become emotionally attached to all the characters and one inevitably dies! We are set for life." He kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the coffee table, settling back onto the sofa and wrapping an arm around Clove's shoulders as he did so.

Clove rested her head on his shoulder and the two became engrossed in trying to work out who was who, and why didn't Taxrus just tell Valerie he loved her, despite the fact he was allergic to hamsters and she, blissfully unaware of his allergies, had just had her face surgically altered so she had a hamster's nose complete with whiskers?!

"Wha-What? NOOO!" Cato howled at the screen as the credits for the mid-season finale of _Four Whiskers and a Budgie Tail_ began to roll up the screen, a half sob, half scream escaping him. "They can't end it like that! Who killed Crabbers?!"

Clove hiccupped and blew her nose. "That is so sad!" she sniffed, "and he was going to tell Fusia about Rex and they were going to kiss and then then he died; oh God, I just can't!" She buried her head into Cato's shirt, sobbing. Cato stroked her hair soothingly, glaring daggers at the screen.

The doorbell chimed suddenly. "GO AWAY!" Clove shrieked, half-hysterical. "I CAN'T DEAL WITH YOU RIGHT NOW!"

"We'll be back in half an hour with more _Four Whiskers and a Budgie Tail,_ sodon't go anywhere!" A voice emitted from the TV.

Silence in Clove's living room.

"Like hell I'm going anywhere," Cato said finally. "What do you think I am, stupid?"

"I know," Clove agreed. "I mean; honestly. Yeah, alright; I'm coming!" She yelled, getting up from the sofa and going to the front door as the doorbell chimed again.

She opened the door.

"Hello, darling," Enobaria swept into the house, without waiting to be invited in, "and darling's boyfriend." She added, seeing Cato on the sofa.

"He's not my boyfriend," Clove replied.

"What, you snuggle on the sofa in yoga pants and an old shirt that was clearly once his before it shrunk, watching TV and eating whatever you eat, with all your friends?" Enobaria giggled. "Tell that to Ceasar Flickerman and half the Capitol."

Clove reddened. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here," Enobaria drawled, flopping down on the living room's second sofa, "to discuss your talent."

"Not the flute," Clove said immediately. Cato laughed. "Sorry, old joke. Continue," Clove waved her hand, sitting back down beside Cato as Enobaria raised an eyebrow.

"…Okay," Enobaria considered Clove. "What are you good at?"

"Throwing knives," she replied promptly.

"No; I mean a positive thing, like cooking," Enobaria explained.

There was a long, long pause.

"Oh, come on, Clove, you have to be good at something!" Enobaria groaned. "Boyfriend!"

"I have a name, you know," Cato remarked idly, "and I'm still not her boyfriend."

"I know your name, Cato, but I'm giving you a better one," Enobaria grinned, "and I don't care if you two are actually together, half the Capitol thinks you are and that's good enough for me. Now, what is a non-violent, positive thing that Clove is good at?"

Cato frowned thoughtfully. "Yeah, we're done."

"Seriously?!" Enobaria groaned. "You are the worst boyfriend ever! You're supposed to shower her with compliments and say she's amazing at everything, not tell her the truth!"

"Well, what's your talent?" Clove asked, trying hard not to laugh.

"I, darling, am a fashion icon." Enobaria bared her teeth. "It comes with the look."

"What about Brutus?"

"Fishing, believe it or not. But you're the issue here," Enobaria mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully and surveying Clove through half closed eyes. "What can you do? Hmm… I've got it! Painting!"

Cato and Clove stared at her.

"Painting?" Clove repeated. "I can't paint."

"It's true," Cato agreed. "She can't."

Enobaria smiled, getting up. "Don't worry, darlings, I'll sort it all out. You just make sure you can hit a target and life will be sweet. See you tonight."

"Tonight? What's tonight?" Clove asked.

"A banquet with a load of rich people, celebrating your victory," Enobaria laughed at Clove's face. "Your prep team should be here soon. Ta-ta."

Clove's prep team and stylist did indeed arrive soon, but they moved all their equipment into the living room and worked quietly, seeing how engrossed Cato and Glove were in _Four Whiskers and a Budgie Tail. _After an episode, they too were emotionally invested to the point of no return.

Axel dropped his hairspray as Crabbers' killer was revealed.

"No way," Quintessa breathed. "But he loved her! What about Salama?! They're going to get married!"

Duvessa hiccupped, "They are so cute together, too."

"So cute," Clove echoed, "but now we can't support them!"

"I still do," Cato said. "I hate her, but I do… WHAT THE-?!"

"NO!" Malaika gasped, as Crabbers' killer crumpled over the railing, a bullet in her back. "…It wasn't _her_?! It wasn't her!"

"Well who was it then?!" Axel pulled at his orange hair that spiralled from his head in curls, his fingers digging into his scalp frantically.

Clove gasped, pointing a trembling, freshly painted fingernail at the screen. "The yellow scarf!"

A yellow scarf was indeed on the screen, floating down to the floor as a shadow crossed the light and the screen went black.

"Oh, God not again…" Cato groaned loudly, burying his head in his hands as the credits began to roll up the screen.

"Tune in next week for more _Four Whiskers and a Budgie Tail!" _a voiceover said, far too cheerfully.

"NEXT WEEK?!" Clove raged, "NEXT WEEK?! That's a week away from now! What am I supposed to do for a week?!" She blinked. "Whoa… priorities."

"Yeah," Cato agreed, getting up. "See you tomorrow."

"What, you're just leaving?!" Clove asked mock-indignantly. Her prep team backed away, wide eyed and clearly missing the mock part. "Is that all I am to you? A way to watch soap operas?!"

"Yeah," Cato replied, smirking. "Bye."

"Bye." Clove grinned.

Quintessa recovered first as the door clicked shut behind Cato. She shook her head, smiling at Clove: "Dress time."

* * *

><p>"So, how was your banquet?" Cato asked the next day.<p>

"Boring," Clove replied, handing him more wire. "Food was good, though."

"Ah, your priorities are restored," he grinned. "I wasn't getting worried."

"Pleased to hear it." Clove smiled. "Are you done yet?"

"Yes," Cato jumped down from the kitchen counter and turned to her, reaching for a light switch. "You ready?"

Clove shrugged her favourite jacket on and shoved her hands into her pockets. "I was born ready."

"You realise this is a crazy stupid idea, right?" Cato asked. "I mean, we've rigged the whole of the downstairs of your house to be a training room the moment I flick this switch."

"It was my idea," Clove rolled her eyes. "Flick the switch."

"Okay." Cato smirked. He picked up a remote control and flicked the switch.

The product of several hours of hard, non-ceasing work flickered to life. Clove crouched.

"Mark," Cato murmured, sitting down on the makeshift chair that had emerged from the wall and pressing a button on the remote. "Action."

A beam of light shot across the kitchen, its pixels forming into a spear wielding figure. Clove rolled away from the spear and threw a knife, destroying it. She darted from the room, sending knives left, right and centre at various pixelated figures. Cato zoomed after her on the chair, which moved along the walls, his fingers a blur on the buttons of the remote.

"Game," Cato said finally, as Clove's knife destroyed the last figure. They had ran a full circle around the house and were back in the kitchen. "What do you think?"

"It's good," Clove said. "But I think we need to broaden the range of weapons the figures have and increase the difficulty; I'm barely sweating."

"True…" Cato mused, standing up. "That'll be another day's work though, and I start Elite Corps tomorrow, so I don't know when we'll be able to upgrade it."

"Are you nervous?" Clove asked, sliding a glass of orange juice down the counter towards him.

"Thanks. A bit, yeah," he admitted. "I mean; it's an organisation of the best of the best peacekeepers in Panem. They protect the president and accompany the victors on the Victory Tours, all the fancy stuff and yet the training _kills, _so what's the actual action going to be like?"

"Harder than the training I bet," Clove mused. "Well, you kick butt, and they'll put you on my protection team for the Victory Tour. Then we'll go eat cake in the Capitol and undo all the training's hard work."

He laughed. "Why do you even need a protection team? You're a victor; 'the great and deadly Clove' as the Capitol propaganda said in the Games." An idea struck him. "Maybe it's in case someone in one of the districts flips out and tries to kill you."

Clove pulled one of her knives from the wall. "They wouldn't even get close." She spun the knife at him and caught it with ease as he flinched involuntarily. "It's cased, you halfwit," she held the knife up to her eye level and pulled at the clear casing that covered the knife, revealing some of the sharp, silver blade. "All the same," she smirked at him. "They call me deadly for a reason."

He grinned and took a step towards her. "You're cute when you act evil."

Her momentary flush provided the distraction he needed. He barrelled into her, catching her off balance, the knife falling from her grip as he lifted her up and dove into the conservatory. Clove writhed and laughed as he tickled her. He paused slightly as he leapt onto the wicker sofa and she twisted in his arms, using his momentum to gain the upper hand as they crashed onto the sofa. She grinned down at him, her index finger pressed against his neck. "I win. Again. Come on, Cato, where's all that training when you need it?"

Cato smirked at her, sitting up and stretching. "I'm not dead yet." His fingers brushed her neck teasingly and slid into her hair. "Your eyes go all crazy when you fight," he murmured, "and it's so weirdly beautiful."

He was kissing her before she could reply. Not that it mattered; she was too busy kissing him back.

"You're still insufferable," she murmured between kisses, pulling him closer.

She felt him smile. "Can't stand you either, babe," he replied, deepening the kiss.

The doorbell echoed through the house. They ignored it.

It rang again.

"You should probably get that," Cato murmured.

"No," Clove kissed him again, running her fingers through his hair. "I'm busy."

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Okay."

The doorbell chimed a third time.

Clove pulled away from Cato. "I'm going to have to answer it aren't I?"

"Eventually," Cato kissed her cheek.

Sighing, Clove got up and pulled him to his feet. "Might as well get it over with, then."

They ambled through the house to the front door, their hands intertwined.

Clove opened the door.

"Hello, sweetheart."

Haymitch Abernathy stood on the doorstep.

**A/N: Please review! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or anything else that may be referenced. **

**A/N: Enormous thank you to you all for reading, reviewing, following and favouring. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! :)**

**Chapter 3**

_Sighing, Clove got up and pulled him to his feet. "Might as well get it over with, then."_

_They ambled through the house to the front door, their hands intertwined._

_Clove opened the door._

"_Hello, sweetheart."_

_Haymitch Abernathy stood on the doorstep._

"What are you doing here?" Clove asked.

"I came to talk to you," He replied as though it was obvious. "Duh."

"All the way from Twelve?"

"Yes. Look, could you just let me in? This is actually important."

"Fine, come in," Clove stepped aside.

"Thank you." Haymitch crossed the threshold, nodding to Cato. "You're the guy they interviewed. Cato, right?"

"Yeah," Cato shrugged almost defensively. "So what?"

"Nothing. You found a shirt, I see." Haymitch snickered, passing down the hallway into the kitchen.

Clove raised an eyebrow at Cato as they followed Haymitch. "Shirt?" she murmured.

He rubbed the back off his neck, smiling sheepishly. "I may have been training shirtless when they came and interviewed me."

"Of course you were." She laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Well, aren't you two just so sweet?" Haymitch drawled, leaning against the kitchen counter, a flask in one hand. He took a long draught from it, burped, and considered Clove. "Now, I have a problem, sweetheart."

"Just one?" Clove asked, folding her arms across her chest. "Lucky you."

Cato sniggered.

"I have several, actually-"

"Shocker."

"Quit being smart and listen!" Haymitch growled. "This is about the rebellion!"

Clove paused. "What rebellion?"

"The rebellion you stabbed in the back! Literally!"

"I'm confused," she said. "What are you talking about?"

"Katniss Everdeen!" Haymitch roared, waving his flask around, spilling what looked like whisky everywhere. "She was supposed to win the Games, her and Peeta Mellark! Everyone was counting on it, even Seneca Crane! They were going to win, and kick-start the rebellion in the districts! But noooo; you had to go and kill her!"

"Well, what do you want me to do, you and your little rebellion squad?!" Clove shot back. "Apologise for saving my own life? Build a time machine, go back to the Games and die? Because those things are sure as hell not happening!"

"No," Haymitch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We want you to replace her."

"…Come again?"

"We want you to replace Katniss as the face of the rebellion."

"Why?" Cato asked, seeing Clove was staring at Haymitch as though he had grown a second head.

"Some in the districts believe that Clove wasn't entirely genuine in her interview with Caesar Flickerman," Haymitch explained, "And we think we can twist that into a sign of rebellion."

Clove found her voice at last. "But what's this rebellion all about? Why is it happening?"

"People are sick of the games," Haymitch said. "It was Katniss and Peeta's whole romance thing that set it off: their being so young and in love and having to die; well it was very tragic and in angered some people, especially when you add in that it's only ever the districts that suffer, never the Capitol. But the only way to stop the games and get some equality is to overthrow the Capitol, and that means a rebellion."

"I see," Clove mused. "But why do you need a 'face'? Why not just start a rebellion?"

"Having a 'face' gives the people someone to rally behind." Haymitch said, "We want to use you because you're the newest victor, amongst other things. I can't tell you anymore until you agree to be the 'face,' but what I can do is give you time to think about it. This rebellion is happening whether you agree or not, but I'm giving you this choice: you can join the rebellion and be the face-openly defying the Capitol-or you can refuse and we'll forget this whole conversation happened and you can live your life as normal, until such a time that the rebellion begins and your whole world is torn to irreversible shreds." Haymitch took a swig from his flask. "Your choice, sweetheart. I'll see myself out." He pushed away from the counter and went down the corridor. "You can let me know your decision when you come to Twelve during the Victory Tour," he called over his shoulder. "Please," he smirked at them as he opened the front door and put a foot outside. "Resume whatever undoubtedly highly intellectual conversation you were having before I interrupted." Then, he was gone.

Clove turned to Cato. "Wow," she said, shaking her head. "That was just- just-"

"Wacko?"

"Yeah," she bit her lip. "What do you think I should do?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I dunno, Clove; I really don't. If it was me, well; I dunno. I mean, on one hand, honestly: the Games suck; the whole government system sucks. But on the other, the Capitol is powerful and we don't know how big of an operation Haymitch has running, or if he's even in charge, and who is if he isn't. The way he was talking it up, it sounded pretty big; but you saw how often he drinks: he could be off his face and the 'rebellion' is just a small group of people."

"Yeah," she said again. The whole idea was giving her a headache. "I dunno; I think I'll just sleep on it for now," she snorted slightly. "Sleep; as if."

"Nightmares?" Cato guessed.

"You have no idea."

"Try me."

"Okay," she smiled dryly. "Imagine a swarm of bees." Cato shuddered. "Multiply that swarm by fifteen, add two, subtract one, add six, multiply it by four, then double it, and that's my nightmares."

"That's a lot of bees."

"Exactly."

"Let us move on from this decidedly repulsive topic," Cato said with a smile, lacing his fingers through hers, "and all talk of rebellions. What I want to know is, do you want to go to dinner with me, tonight?" He glanced out the window at the dark sky. "Now?"

"Are you asking me on a date?" Clove raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Oh, God no." Cato winked, "Funny though; that you jumped straight to that conclusion."

"Is it?" she smiled. "So, where are we going?"

Cato laughed awkwardly. "I hadn't actually got that far. Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere… normal," she replied softly. "Somewhere we used to go before the Games."

He smiled, leading her from the room. "I think we can manage that."

They went to a small food stand that doubled as a restaurant that stood in the twenty-four hour market that ran in the largest village of Two. It stood in a small, overcrowded alley to the right of the Justice Building. The market was always packed with people and gradually expanded into the paved courtyard where the reaping was held.

People stared at them as they passed, or more specifically, they stared at Clove. Though Victors in Two were held in high esteem throughout the district, they were rarely seen in public places, just glimpsed, aside from when there was a Capitol event. So to see a Victor walking through the market as though it was the most normal thing in the world induced, for some, a desire fora little thrill seeking.

"Cato…" Clove murmured.

"Mmm?"

"Don't look now, but over your right shoulder: four kids about fourteen, fifteen; two guys and two girls, in dark jeans and sweatshirts in red, blue, pink and black. The girls are about 5'4, 5'5, the boys about 5'8 and 6'2. The taller girl is wearing the black sweatshirt; she's blonde and favouring her left side ever so slightly, so you'd have to twist her arm around and sweep her feet before you decked her and the shorter boy, the red head, well, he looks agile, so I'd throw at him; go for the knee cap and then the hood of his sweatshirt- what?" she asked, seeing his eye twitch.

"I know they're following us," he murmured. "They're using shadowing formations 6, 4, 3 and 9 in combination. The taller boy in red is currently eyeing us from across the alley, pretending to be interested in balls of yarn. But you're going all Hunger Games on me; working out how you're going to get them."

"Sorry," she smiled. "It became a habit in the training centre before the Games."

"Don't be," he replied, as they approached the food stand. "I like it. But I don't think we should get them, just lose them."

"Hello, you two. Back again, are you?" The stand's owner, a tall man with grizzled hair who went simply by the name of Emeril, said smirking at them.

"Looks like it, yeah." Clove replied.

"Usual?" he asked, and they nodded. "'Kay. You get this one free for winning the Games," he said as he worked. "I won a bucketful for betting on you, Clove."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you." He smiled. "Now I can retire early if I want."

"See the impact you have on people's lives?" Cato asked as they left the market, having eaten.

"It's kind of weird to think of, really." Clove replied, watching the four teenagers shadow them out of the corner of her eye. "They're good."

Cato laughed, "Yeah, but we're better."

"Naturally. Why do you think they're following us? I mean, sure I won the games, but that's no reason to follow someone, really."

"Yes, but to catch a victor by surprise, that'd be something," Cato remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," Clove understood. "Well…" she leaned up and kissed his cheek, smirking, "I've always loved hide and seek."

He smiled, taking her hand. "That's my girl."

* * *

><p>"Did we lose them?" Cato asked, holding out a hand to help Clove down from the top of a fence into Enobaria's back garden, some ten minutes later.<p>

"I think so," she said as they slid around the side of the house and across the street to her own. "We definitely lost at least one when we crawled through the quarry."

"Yeah, you still have rock in your hair." Cato pulled a piece of graphite from Clove's hair and showed her.

"It's my new look," she laughed. "It'll be all the rage in the Capitol by morning-ow!"

"What?"

"Something's digging into my shoulder," Clove rolled her right shoulder around as they reached her front door. "Hang on." She removed her jacket and turned it inside out. Cato watched curiously as she ran her fingers over the various pockets that his grandmother had sewn in for her to keep her knives in, until she reached one near the middle of the jacket. "There's something in here," She reached inside and pulled out a small gold tube. A piece of paper fluttered out after it. Cato caught it before it could hit the ground and read the small blue print aloud, squinting in the dim light provided by the moon.

"_Clove,_

"_You're starting a new trend. I expect you to wear this lipstick at all times during the day. I will know if you don't. _

"_Do you really want your lips to be permanently dyed? Because that's the alternative. _

"_Much love,_

"_Kisses, Quintessa."_

"Cryptic and weird." Clove remarked, applying the lipstick, which was the same blood red shade as her nails had been during her first televised appearance after the Games. She pouted up at him over- exaggeratedly. "How do I look?"

"Like an alien," he replied, cupping her face. "A gorgeous alien," he continued, kissing her deeply. Clove smiled, kissing him back and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Something beeped loudly, cutting through the moment and nearly giving them both a heart attack.

"Sorry," Cato grinned sheepishly at Clove, pressing a button on the side of his watch. "Just an alarm reminding me that I have to be up at seven."

"What time is it now?"

"About ten fifteen, ten twenty. I should probably go." he said, kissing her again.

"Yeah," she murmured, making no move to pull away. "You need to sleep if you're planning on having half a chance of surviving tomorrow."

"I know." He wrapped his arms around her again. She smiled.

"You have to go."

"Well, you're not making it easy."

She laughed, pulling away, and unlocking her front door. "I know; now go," she kissed him quickly and slipped inside her house. Her eye peered at him from the crack in the door, laughing. "Goodnight, Cato, and good luck tomorrow."

"Thanks. Night, Clover." He grinned at her and the front door clicked shut.

Two was almost peaceful as Cato made his way home, smiling to himself; almost due to the screaming match that appeared to be happening between a pair of old women that lived across the street from him. They were brandishing candelabras and Cato would've dearly loved to have watched their row, but he saw Caderyn beckoning to him from the kitchen window, so he entered his house.

"Good day?" Caderyn asked, as Cato removed his shoes and jacket, still smiling.

"Something like that," Cato replied. "What's going on across the road?"

"Well, I'm not one for gossip, _but_," Caderyn began. "From what I can gather, Melody- you know, Mrs. J's goddaughter, blonde hair, tall,- got stuck in a quarry with Jackson- Mrs. P's grandson; short red hair- and they had to be rescued by a miner."

Cato laughed.

"What?" Caderyn asked.

"Oh; nothing. Please, continue."

"They said they were exploring, and Mrs. J and Mrs. P are arguing over whose grandchild it was that had the idea to go exploring."

"How trivial," Aella pronounced, entering the kitchen from the pantry and beginning to clean. "Hello, dear." She said, catching sight of Cato and smiling wickedly. "Good day?"

"Something like that."

"How's Clove?"

"Yeah, she's good." Cato replied, slightly puzzled. Caderyn snickered. "Am I missing something?" Cato asked.

"No, dear," Aella replied, clearly trying hard not to smile.

"You only ever call me dear when there's a joke going on and you're trying to cover it." Cato pointed out. "So, what's the joke?"

Aella ignored him, wiping down the dining table, staring at the TV

Caesar Flickerman addressed them from the screen. "As you must know by now, due to our previous reporting and its mass sell-out already, our most recent Victor, Clove Marcan, has begun her own lipstick line! Yes, now you too can wear mark of a victor!"

"She fell in love with the blood red the moment I applied it to her for the banquet in her District," the camera cut to Quintessa suddenly. "She wears it all the time, now."

"It would seem she does," Ceasar Flickerman winked at them. "We've got so exclusive never before seen footage of just how much she loves it."

"Jeez!" Cato exclaimed as the camera cut to him and Clove outside her house, just minutes before. The camera zoomed in on them, watching Clove applying the lipstick. "Where the hell were they?!"

"You look good on camera," Caderyn observed. Cato made no response, sighing inwardly as the camera's cut back to Caesar Flickerman as Clove finished applying the lipstick and shoved the tube into her pocket. He and Clove hadn't talked about exactly where their kissing put them in terms of relationships and the last thing he needed was the whole country to see them kissing before he had asked her to actually be his girlfriend: he wanted it to be real, not feel generated by the country's belief.

The camera cut to various shots of Clove at the Victor's banquet in Two. She was posing for pictures with her father, the Mayor, her prep team; smiling, her red lipstick clearly the focus of her otherwise black outfit.

"Clove's range, _Clove's Collection_, can be found at every major store," Caesar Flickerman's voice informed them as various lipsticks floated across the screen, a name attached to each. "Currently sold out, stocks are replenishing as we speak. That concludes our entertainment report. Goodnight, Panem!"

"Have you eaten?" Aella asked Cato as she turned to wipe down the kitchen counter, the Capitol seal glaring at her back.

"Yeah, I had dinner with Clove."

"Oh, yes, I see," she said, in a tone that suggested she actually did see. Caderyn sniggered.

"Okay, I am definitely missing something," Cato raised his hands in surrender. "What is it?"

Caderyn threw him a box of tissues and tapped his upper lip. "You got a little something there, and your chin."

Cato took a tissue from the box and wiped his mouth, putting two and two together and dreading the answer. He pulled the tissue away from him and was greeted by the sight of blood red lipstick. Not sure what to say, he simply turned and headed for the staircase and the safe haven that was now his bedroom.

"Goodnight, Lover Boy; sweet dreams." Caderyn called. His grandparent's laughter followed him up the stairs.

Despite the awkwardness he felt, a grin broke out across his face as Cato considered the day as a whole.

Over in the Victor's Village, Clove was grinning too.

**A/N: Please review! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or anything else that may be referenced. **

**A/N: Huge thank you to you all. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! :)**

**Chapter 4**

_Despite the awkwardness he felt, a grin broke out across his face as Cato considered the day as a whole. _

_Over in the Victor's Village, Clove was grinning too._

Clove hardly saw Cato over the next two weeks. They glimpsed each other occasionally around the district, but as Clove was signing autographs and posing for pictures with small children and he was running rounds with the rest of the Elite Corps, so they never had time to talk.

Friday afternoon two weeks after they had had dinner found Clove at the training centre, working her way through the various levels of difficulty the most advanced training rooms offered. As she leapt over a low aimed arrow and flung two knifes at the robotic archers on either side of the room, piercing them in the heart and ending the level, applause echoed around the training room from above.

She turned, looking up at the observation room. Her father stood smiling down at her, surrounded by a class of ten to twelve year old schoolchildren and their teacher, who were applauding. Towering over the class at the back of the observation room, also applauding, were Cato and two others from the Elite Corps Clove didn't know, clad in uniform.

Her father pressed a button on the control panel. "Hello, Clove. Mrs Alcanda's class are here for their annual trip, and we'd thought we'd stop by."

"Hi, everyone." Clove smiled.

"Can I train you?" A small girl called out, turning crimson as Clove's gaze flickered to her.

"Cassidy!" Mrs Alcanda exclaimed. "Sorry." She said to Clove. "She redesigned the training system last year, and has been longing to train someone big."

"No, it's okay," Clove said, turning back to Cassidy. "Sure, you can train me."

Cassidy beamed, and Clove's father moved away from the control panel as she approached it. The class crowded around her, whispering suggestions as Clove refilled her jacket with knives.

"Ready?" Cassidy asked.

"Ready," Clove stood in the middle of the room, her hands in her pockets.

"Go." Cassidy said, her fingers beginning to dance across the control panel.

The room erupted with robots. Archers, Swordsmen, knife throwers, axe wielders; these and more descended upon her. Clove's mind switched off and her instincts took over. She threw, kicked, punched and rolled across the training centre, barely hearing the gasps of the class.

"She's good," Ardal, one of Cato's friends in the Corps remarked, watching as Clove decapitated an Archer with a boomerang knife, and caught it again, sending in after a swordsman and kicking a spear thrower in the face in one sweeping motion.

"Yeah," Olis, the other of Cato's friends responded "and hot." He watched Cato discreetly, waiting for a reaction, and was rewarded as Cato's jaw clenched slightly.

Clove caught the boomerang knife again and ducked as an axe wielding robot swung at her. However, she didn't duck fast enough and the blade on the axe caught the hood of her jacket, sending her into the wall. The class winced. Cassidy made to turn the robot off, but Clove had already pushed away from the wall and leapt up at it, curling her body around its head and stabbing it in the eye. She let go as it fell and landed heavily on her feet, holding the wall for support. "Class dismissed," she smiled weakly. "Ow."

Cato slipped from the observation room and went down the ramp and through the door into the training room. "You okay?"

"I think I've twisted my ankle," she winced.

"Can you walk?"

"Ye-no." she stumbled. "Owww."

"Here," he picked her up lightly. She hissed as her ankle left the ground. "Sorry."

"No. My fault," she exhaled as he carried her towards the door. "I should have left the robot; Cassidy was shutting it down anyway."

"You're a victor," he pointed out. "You need to uphold your reputation in combat."

"Are you alright, Clove?" her father met them on the ramp.

"Aside from my ankle, yes."

"Oh my God, I am so sorry!" Cassidy exclaimed as they arrived in the observation room.

"It was my fault, don't worry," Clove smiled.

"I have to finish this tour," Clove's father murmured.

"I can take her to my house," Cato offered. "My grandmother's there; I'm done for the day, anyway."

"Perfect! Thank you, Cato," Clove's father sounded relieved. "I'll see you later," he said to Clove, "that was the stupidest thing you've ever done, by the way."

"I know."

Cato's colleagues accompanied them through the training centre.

"I don't think we've been introduced," Olis said, smiling at Clove. "I'm Olis."

"Worst timing ever." Ardal informed his friend. "How do you expect her to shake your hand?" he pointed to Clove, who had locked her hands around Cato's neck for support. "I'm Ardal, by the way," he grinned at Clove.

"Nice to meet you both," she smiled back as Cato nudged the training centre door open with his foot.

"Oh, God, stairs," Cato groaned. "Bye guys. Brace yourself, Clover."

Clove quickly waved to the two boys and gritted her teeth as he began to climb down the stairs, her ankle searing with pain at every jolt.

"'Clover'?" Ardal murmured to Olis as they re-entered the training centre, Cato's laughter at the profanity Clove was muttering echoing back to them. "She doesn't seem the nickname type."

Olis shrugged, pushing his dirty blonde hair away from his eyes, "My little brother, Baethan, is in the same year as them at school-, or at least he was, until Cato got spotted and she got reaped. He told me when I asked him what Cato was like that he and Clove had been a team since preschool, and only he seemed to be allowed to call her 'Clover', because anyone else who tried got pinned painfully to the wall by a knife through their clothing."

"Are they together, did he know?" Ardal asked curiously.

"No one does, apparently. They always leant against the wall playing some kind of word game during dances and stuff." Olis winked at a passing trainer, making her blush. "Baethan was rather distraught about that: he's lost many a pretty penny over it."

Ardal snickered. "Poor guy."

They froze suddenly, seeing a vending machine before them. There was only one chocolate bar left. Olis shoved Ardal and bolted for the machine. Cursing, Ardal regained his balance and raced after his friend, determined that for once, that bar would be his.

* * *

><p>Aella felt a strong wave of déjà vu as she answered the doorbell. For a moment, it was five years ago, and she had opened the door to the sight of a 12 year old Cato, covered in mud, carrying a 12 year old Clove, who had leaves in her hair and an expression of great pain on her face. As Aella had tended to Clove's sprained ankle, Cato had explained rather nervously how he had Clove had been practising hitting targets by taking it in turn to throw apples into the air for the other to hit with spears and knives that they had 100% <em>borrowed with permission<em> from the shed reserved for the senior gym class at the school. For _insurance reasons _they had been asked to return the stuff they had _borrowed_ to the shed as though it had never been used, but one of the knives had gotten stuck in the branches of the tree in the back field they had been practising in, and Clove had stood on his shoulders in an effort to reach it, but he had slipped on a patch of mud that had formed after the rain last night and Clove and fallen off his shoulders and hurt her ankle when she landed.

"Err; Grandmother?" Cato repeated.

"You stole the weapons, didn't- huh? Oh, sorry," Aella snapped back to reality and stepped aside.

"Are you okay?" Cato asked as he passed.

"Yes, of course I am," Aella rolled her eyes, following them through the kitchen and over to the stairs that lead to the living room. "Let us commence the Drill!"

The Drill was the name given to the routine Aella worked through whenever Cato, Clove or Caderyn came to her with an injury. The patient would lie on the more threadbare sofa of the living room, which was actually a sofa bed, and it was there they would remain until such a time that she deemed them mended. Clove had spent so much time on that sofa beside Cato after they first began training that Aella now kept a box of her clothes in the cupboard under the stairs in case of an emergency.

Once in the living room, Cato lowered Clove carefully onto the sofa.

"Thanks," she said.

"Don't mention it."

"Right, Clove, what have you done to yourself?" Aella laughed, coming over to them.

"My ankle's twisted," Clove said, gritting her teeth as Aella removed her shoe, frowning as she inspected the ankle in question.

"That's sprained, not twisted," she said. Clove groaned.

"How long until I can train again?"

"Two and a half weeks," Aella informed her, "so get used to the sofa."

"I guess I have too." Clove grimaced.

"Yes, you do." Aella smirked at her, her smirk turning into a pointed glare as she faced her grandson. "Now, Clove needs to _rest_."

"That was one time!" Cato protested. "One!"

"It was my idea, too." Clove chimed in.

"That's not the point," Aella frowned at them. "He agreed, and it was his choice to attach the target to Effie's present-"

"You can't tell me you miss that…that…_thing_!" Cato exclaimed. "What was it even supposed to be, anyway: Caesar Flickerman in between surgeries playing limbo in a kilt and not much else, covered in melted chocolate after too much sherry?!"

"There's a nice mental image," Caderyn remarked mildly, entering the living room. "Hello Clove."

"Hey Caderyn."

"-rubbed the woman's Godforsaken bunions!" Cato was now informing his grandmother loudly, "and they were not small!"

"Or devoid of pus," Caderyn reminded him, smirking.

"Yes; or devoid of pus! Ugh!" Cato shuddered.

"Right, Cato; shut up and listen." Aella snapped, her eyes flashing. Cato shut up. "Thank you," she grinned a little. "I appreciate the fact that, ahem, _nursing_ your Aunt Effie's bunions could not have been the most pleasant of experiences, but she was very grateful to you. Secondly, I've arranged a story to explain the statue's fortunate demise."

"Excuse me," Caderyn interrupted. "You've _arranged _a story?"

"Yes," Aella smiled. "Effie's coming to stay."

"NOOOOO!" Cato howled, falling to his knees, puling at his hair. "OH PLEASE GOD NO! - ahem," he cleared his throat and stood up, catching Aella's eye and forcing a winning smile. "I mean: great!"

"Wait, wait, hold up," Caderyn stared at his wife. "_Effie's_ coming to stay? As in: our daughter Effie? Our Effie who lives in the Capitol? Our Effie who we haven't seen for two years, aside from on TV as District Twelve's escort, since her husband Dives Trinket died?"

"That's the one," Aella confirmed. "She called and said she needed a break from the city and could she come and stay for three weeks, and of course I said yes."

"Great!" Caderyn beamed, mouthing '_sucks to be you!_' at Cato as Aella turned to Clove.

"Now, don't you worry," she smiled. "The Drill will proceed as normal."

"Are you sure?" Clove asked. "Because I can go…"

"Where?" Aella laughed. "No; I insist on your staying, and I can see you, Cato." She cut her eyes at her grandson, who stopped mouthing _'don't leave me!_' at Clove abruptly. "I'm going to get some ice for your ankle," she said. "Caderyn, come and help me."

"You can get it, it's not rocket science."

"_Now_!" Aella glared at him pointedly.

"Alright, alright." Caderyn took the hint and followed his wife from the room, pausing only to throw a box of tissues at Cato.

"So," Cato grinned at Clove. "Looks like you're going to meet my Aunt Effie. Unless you already have?"

"No; we never met the other district's escorts," Clove smiled as she looked over at him and shook her head, bemused.

"What?"

"Just you," she smiled again, a little sadly this time.

"What about me?"

"You look like a Peacekeeper."

"I am a Peacekeeper," he smirked, sitting down on the sofa beside her, one of the large pockets of his uniform providing perfect cushioning for her back. "Just with an extra dash of awesome; hence the black." He gestured to his uniform, which was indeed black, rather than the white of traditional peacekeeper uniforms, though it was made of the same material.

She laughed slightly, resting her head against his shoulder, peering at him over her forehead. "What would've happened, do you think, if I hadn't been reaped? What would our lives be like?"

Cato paused, thinking the questions over, playing with the end of Clove's plait which curved onto his side. "Well… Some other girl would've gone to the area, obviously, and I think Angus would've volunteered still… I reckon the Twelves would've won: both of them with the help of whatever Haymitch had planned, so they'd be a lot of rebellion-type stuff going down. As for our lives, well: I'd have kissed you sooner," he met her gaze steadfastly, though his neck reddened a little.

"Aww; that's sweet," she smiled at him.

"Yeah, it only took me three years," he snorted.

"Three?"

"I-"

"OKAY, AELLA: I AM _ENTERING THE LIVING ROOM _NOW, WITH SOME FIRST AID SUPPLIES AND SOME ICE," Caderyn all but shouted as he entered the room, carrying the aforementioned items.

"Tissue?" Cato asked his grandfather nonchalantly, offering him the box as he came over to the sofa, before helping Clove to turn so she now rested her ankle on the higher surface that was the coffee table so that her ankle could be bandaged.

"No thanks," Caderyn replied. Clove winced as the bandage was bound tight around her ankle. Cato noticed and decided to try and cheer her up.

"Hey, Clove- Clove- Clove- Clove- Clove-Cloooooove."

"Yeah?"

"I have a joke for you. You ready? Ready- ready-ready?"

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Okay: why can't you iron a four-leaf clover?"

Clove paused, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "I dunno, why?"

"Becaaauuuseee," Cato drawled as Caderyn levitated Clove's ankle further on some cushions and pressed a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel against it. "You shouldn't press your luck!"

Clove snickered. "That's awful. Thank you Caderyn."

"I'll be here all week," Cato informed her, smirking.

"Literally," Caderyn added. "Because your grandmother's booked you off a week's holiday so you can 'get to know Effie,' her words, not mine."

"What?!" Cato's head snapped towards his grandfather. "When did this happen? Why did this happen? How did this happen?"

"Five minutes ago; so you can get to know and perhaps tolerate you Aunt; and via the telephone in the kitchen. I don't know why you're complaining: we all know exactly where you're going to be spending the balk of the week," the answer is clear, but Caderyn felt the need to add a pointed gesture, if only to see them both turn beetroot. "I'm off to pick up Effie, want to come?"

"Wait, she's arriving today?" Cato asked.

"Oh, yeah; she called yesterday, apparently. I ask again: want to come? No; I have not grown a third nose." Caderyn informed them, taking in Cato's expression.

It's not until he's left that something dawns on Clove.

"_Third _nose?" she repeated, staring at Cato.

"He was born in the Capitol. We don't discuss it."

"I see." Clove was more than happy to let the subject drop. "Speaking of three: three years?" she raised an eyebrow and Cato caught her meaning.

He chuckled. "Back to my extreme cowardice, are we?"

"You're not a coward," she spoke softly, but firmly as she sat up a little so they were now shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye.

"If I'm not a coward, why did it take three years and a near death experience for me to gather the courage kiss you?"

"Let me know when you figure it out," Clove said, "Might help me figure out why it took three years and a near death experience for me to gather the courage to express that I like you as more than my best friend."

"Will do," Cato agreed. They sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other, daring the other to say it.

"Okay, truthfully," They suddenly spoke as one. "I was absolutely terrified as to how you would react."

Clove blinked. "That was spooky."

"Yeah," he chuckled again. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but we're pretty well known throughout the district for our _ferocity_ and particularly our _bravery_, right?"

"Yep."

"And yet we both realised we liked each other when we were fourteen and kept it a secret from each other for three years and a near death experience because we both were _terrified _of how the other would react if they knew?"

"That sounds about right," Clove nodded shaking her head despairingly, a smirk tugging at her lips. "We are actually terrible cowards."

"I know." Cato mimicked her actions and sighed for good measure. "But let us, just for a moment, put on a façade of great bravery."

Clove snickered, then quickly forced her features into an expression of deep concentration. "Okay."

"Clove Marcan," Cato began dramatically, yet not so loudly that is voice would carry to the kitchen where tell-tale fumes informed them that Aella was cooking. "We have known each other for, er-" he paused and began to count on his fingers. "- 12 years. The first day we met, in preschool, you threw a plastic knife at my head. Admittedly, I had just asked you if I could play connect the dots with the freckles on your nose, but that's beside the point. The point, before you ask, is that I knew, even from the tender age of five, that you were going to be my best friend- and not only because you were the only one in preschool who was actually game to fight me, although that was the sole contributing factor at the time. But as we got older, an abundance of reasons emerged: You always let me borrow your notes, you're funny, nice, and kind to those who are to you- and I'm not about the high road-, you're sarcastic, witty, clever, deadly and a million and more adjectives of a positive nature. You were the only one in high school that I could actually talk to because, let's be honest; the guys were jealous-not just of my talent, but of my friendship with the deadliest and best looking girl in school- and the girls couldn't look my way without collapsing in a tangle of their own limbs at my hotness. Yet allow me to assure you, that your constant eye rolls that I now recognise to be subtle glances at my very well defined abs, were and are a lot more flattering than the blatant ogling. Then you got reaped for the Hunger Games and when Angus got his hand up before I did, I felt as though my whole world was collapsing. But then I thought to myself; she can do this; Clove can win. So I told you, during the goodbye sessions; don't worry about the pledge, just got out there, kick butt and come home; and let me tell you, you kicked butt then some. The moment Claudius Templesmith announced you as victor was one of the happiest moments of my life. Because I knew that I would get to train with you, flirt with you, and snicker at your insults again. So, in conclusion, Clover," Cato grinned. "You are the funniest, nicest, deadliest, and mentalist person I have ever had the good fortune- or misfortune- to know, and ever will know. You are the second most attractive person I know, because, let's be real; I have a mirror. But you are the most amazing girl that is, and will ever be, in my world, so what I want to know is: will you be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, of course I will," Clove laughed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve: she had teared up a little during his speech. Cato grinned, hugging her close.

"God; don't go all mushy on me now, Clover."

"As if," she snorted magnificently.

"Best. Snort. Ever."

"Thank you. Now shut up, you idiot, and kiss me."

Cato obliged with a passion.

She laughed when they came up for air and rested her forehead against his. "I can only imagine what we would look like had I been wearing the lipstick."

"Better than anyone in the Capitol," Cato murmured as he trailed kisses down her left cheekbone, making her smile, before bringing his lips to hers again. "That stuff was totally my colour."

"-and do be careful, Father, these stairs are MAHOGHANY-oh my!"

Cato and Clove pulled away from each other quickly and turned to face the staircase. Effie Trinket stood at the entrance to the room, one gloved hand pressed to her mouth in a mixture of embarrassment and something more discreet as she surveyed the two teenagers, who were as crimson as her_ Clove's Collection _lipstick, having forgotten everything but each other.

"A-aunt Effie," Cato stuttered as he struggled to his feet, thrown. "How, er, nice to see you, again."

Effie's lips twitched behind her hand, and Clove realised that it was amusement that mixed with her embarrassment. "You too, Cato. But where are your _manners_? Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Her gaze fell on Clove properly for the first time, and her eyes widened as she recognised her.

"Clove Marcan," she said before Cato could speak. Her tone was suddenly dry, almost harsh, and there was an implication behind it that Clove couldn't place.

"Hello," Clove smiled all the same.

"Yeah, Aunt Effie, this is Clove; my girlfriend." a smile curled around Cato's mouth as he finished the sentence.

"Do my ears deceive me?" Caderyn called, appearing on the stairs, dragging several suitcases. Clove's father and Aella followed him. "To hell with the mahogany Effie," he continued, waving away her protests. "Cato has finally gr-" Aella poked him hard in the head. "-gr-gotten over his fear of Clove!"

"I'm not scared of Clove." Cato protested.

"That's how you both always said 'she's not my girlfriend,' or 'he's not my boyfriend,' now look at where you are." Clove's father pointed out. "On that note-" in two strides he was across the room and had Cato pressed painfully against an oriental wooden soldier mask that hung on the wall by his hair.

"Father!" Clove protested, as her father twisted Cato's arms to his back and ground his face into the mask. "You're messing up his face."

"Gee, thanks, Clover." Cato grunted.

"I have priorities." Clove grinned.

Clove's father tightened his grip on Cato and the boy winced.

Effie stood gaping at her parents, who leant against the wall by the staircase, looking completely relaxed and somewhat amused. "You're just going to stand there?"

Aella poured herself a glass of whisky and sipped it. "Yes. Cato's getting his butt handed to him on a silver platter."

"He's not fighting back," Effie pointed out in spite of her amazement.

"It's because he's in luuurve," Caderyn drawled quietly, snickering. "With Clove, not her father," he added.

"Right, you listen here," Clove's father snarled, turning Cato around to face him, pulling his gun from his belt with one hand and pressing it against Cato's forehead, right between his eyes.

"Is that really necessary?" Clove asked, seriously this time. Her father ignored her, glaring at Cato, his eyes as angry as thunder. Cato paled considerably.

"If you hurt my daughter, I will kill you." Clove's father snarled. "I will kill you in such a manner that will make you wish you never existed. Understand?"

Cato gulped. "Yes, sir."

"Then I will kill you again."

"Yes, sir. I won't hurt her I swear, sir."

"You'd better not." Clove's father released him and smiled. "What took you so long anyway? I have lost so many bets over you two, it's not funny."

"We've come to the conclusion that we're both terrible cowards," Clove answered as Cato sat down beside her, accepting the tissue box she handed him and wiping his brow.

"Right you are. So, what's the matter with you then?" Her father asked, throwing her his gun and squatting down to look at her ankle.

"Sprained ankle; I'm out for two and a half weeks." Clove replied, examining the gun. A grin spread across her face. "Hey Cato, guess what?"

"What?"

"This isn't loaded."

"Don't tell him that!" Clove's father exclaimed, glaring at her. "You just ruined my whole intimidation routine!"

"No, she didn't." Cato spoke up. "You were very intimidating before and after the gun."

"Thank you," Clove's father smirked. He turned to Aella, who pointed a finger at him threateningly.

"She's staying: don't you even ask. Or thank us: _either of you_."

"Okay," Clove's father held up his hands in surrender. He glanced at his watch and grimaced. "I have to go; I have patrol in ten minutes." He kissed the top of Clove's head. "I love you. Rest, or you won't get your present."

"Present? What present?" Clove asked. But her father ignored her.

"Goodbye everyone," he waved as he approached the staircase to go downstairs to the kitchen, where the front door was situated. "Ms. Trinket; pleasure to meet you." He shook her hand and bowed in perfect Capitol etiquette. "And Caderyn," he could be heard saying as the two went downstairs. "Tell Aella thank you for everything."

"Oi!" Aella cried down the stairs. Laughter and the closing of a door was the response.

"Cato, why don't you help your grandfather with Aunt Effie's bags?" Aella asked as Caderyn ran back up the stairs to them, chuckling. Her tone indicated it was more an order than a question, so Cato got up from beside Clove and began to help his grandfather drag Effie's luggage up the stairs.

"Mind the mahogany!" Effie squawked, following them. "Oh, what on earth happened to the present I sent? The caption to the picture you sent said it took pride of place right here, and I have to agree."

An awkward silence followed.

"Well, you see, Effie…" Caderyn's voice faded away as they climbed further up the staircase.

Aella made a face at Clove. "It was hideous that statue," she admitted, throwing her the TV remote. "Now, rest."

* * *

><p>Effie was not outright hostile towards Clove, but her tone lingered in the air ever so slightly whenever she spoke to her and there were times throughout the evening that Clove caught Effie staring at her with a rather unpleasant expression on her face. Clove tried not to let it bother her, but she wondered why Effie seemed to have taken against her. Sure, Clove killed her chances of being the winning district's escort, but surely Effie would be used to failing in that endeavour by now?<p>

"You're up late."

Clove glanced up from her book, smiling at Cato, who leant against the wall by the staircase, his hair messy from sleep. He was shirtless, dressed just in pyjama bottoms.

"Like what you see?" he smirked.

"Perhaps," she grinned. "Why are you up, it's-" she glanced at her watch. "-11:30?"

"I was thirsty," he explained. "So I had a drink and by then Aunt Effie's snores had rattled around in my head from across the hall, I kid you not, so much that now I'm awake."

"She seems nice, your aunt." Clove remarked. _To everyone but me,_ she added in her head.

"She hates you," Cato said bluntly, raising an eyebrow at her, "and you know it."

"Yeah," Clove admitted, kind of relieved she wasn't the only one who had noticed. "Don't know why, though."

"Hmm," Cato frowned thoughtfully as he crossed the room and joined her on the sofa, which had been pulled out into bed form. "You didn't go near the mahogany, soo… maybe she's friends with Haymitch, if you know what I mean."

Clove's lips twitched as she looked at him.

"Not like that, ew!" Cato wrinkled his nose. "You know-"

"I do," she nodded, smirking. "Although they would make a good couple."

"You're crazy," Cato wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "But it would make sense wouldn't it, the other thing? Haymitch was hardly over the moon that you survived: I imagine none of that lot would be, and by Aunt Effie's standards, she was discretion itself tonight."

Clove tried to imagine Effie as how she thought a rebel would act: Firing a gun at Peacekeepers; crawling on her knees through the ventilation system of a capitol building, intent on a mission; sitting in a military-type room, planning a raid involving the death of President Snow, and failed miserably.

"It's unlikely, I know," Cato said, reading her thoughts. "But she was Twelve's escort so that could've changed her attitude towards the Capitol."

"It could've done," Clove agreed. "That Twelve girl, what was her name?"

"Katniss Everdeen."

"Yeah, her: she was hardly a bundle of joy… and as for Whatshisface- her district partner-"

"Peeta Mellark," Cato supplied. "God Clove, did you pay attention at all when we watched the reaping?"

"Not to their names, no," Clove laughed. "How strong they looked, yes. Anyway, that… Peeta, was it? Well, he just flirted with her the whole time: so if she was anti-everything, he would listen so she'd like him and he'd probably agree with whatever she said. I dunno, really, what he was like. The version of him in my nightmares just tries to kill me." She muttered this last, and Cato squeezed her shoulder in sympathy.

"That's why you're not sleeping isn't it?" he murmured. "The nightmares."

"Yep," she replied bitterly. "I'm _scared_." She was angry, he realised. Angry at herself for being scared of her imagination, her memories.

"We train our whole lives, learning to kill," she continued. "We learn to be fearless, merciless, and deadly. We learn to throw knives and spears, wield axes and swords, and kill with our bare hands. I've killed people: both tributes from 9 and 7, the girl from 3, the boy from 11 and girls from 5 and 12. Eight people. People whose names I didn't know, whose faces translated only to their gender and a number; whose emotions and lives meant nothing to me: total strangers, just like they say in class. The way they teach it, it's as though once you've thrown the knife, stabbed with the sword, snapped the neck: ended another's life; that's it. You go back to living your life as normal. But I haven't: the nightmares come every night, making me terrified to sleep. They don't mention the nightmares in class, they don't warn us about them; train us to combat them. It's as though they don't happen. So why am I getting them?" her eyes met his imploringly, searching for an answer. "Why am I scared?"

He closed his eyes, hugging her as she buried her head in the crook of his neck. "Because you're human," he replied softly as her tears ran down his chest. "Like it or not Clover; you're human and you've been to hell and back. But it's over," he wiped tears off her cheeks with his thumb as she lifted her head to look at him, "and you're safe."

"Am I?" her voice was little more than a whisper.

"For now, at least," he couldn't lie to her, she meant too much. "You should sleep."

His honesty calmed the fear that sparkled in her eyes at the last word.

"Stay with me," she murmured, her head falling back into the crook of his neck.

He kissed her forehead and flicked off the lamp beside her. She moved closer as the darkness eclipsed them. "I promise."

Clove allowed her eyes to drift shut and fell instantly into a soft, deep sleep.

Then the world spins and not even the strong warmth of Cato's arms can stop her from falling, falling back into the arena: for her _absolute favourite nightmare._

_Yet._

**A/N: Please review! :) **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or anything else that may be referenced. **

**A/N: Enormous thank you to you all. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! :)**

**Chapter 5**

_Clove allowed her eyes to drift shut and fell instantly into a soft, deep sleep. _

_Then the world spins and not even the strong warmth of Cato's arms can stop her from falling, falling back into the arena: for her_ _absolute favourite nightmare._

_Yet._

She stood on the platform. It was slowly rising upwards through the ground, taking her to the arena. Then came the rush of confidence, arrogance. She could and would win these games. The prize was hers for the taking.

The platform was now level with the ground and Clove focused her attention on a small black case that stood right at the back of the Cornucopia; knowing it was for her. She needed that case.

The Games kicked off and Clove was one of the first to leave the platforms, sprinting full pelt towards the black case. She reached it and ducked into a corner, her hands working furiously. She ripped the case open and found her favourite jacket; the jacket that was practically her trademark in Two, and a collection of knives of all shapes, sizes and lengths. Within seconds the case was empty and Clove's jacket was around her shoulders comforting her with its familiarity and weight, courtesy of the knives. She slipped from her corner and darted back out into the bloodbath, knives flying from her hands.

"Clove!" It was Angus, suddenly, beside her. He grinned at her, whirling an axe high above his head. "Having fun?"

Then, everything changed.

Those who were dead rose from the grass, picking up their fallen weapons, or simply pulling weapons from the ground. They began to march towards them, pushing them inside the Cornucopia. Clove's jacket was suddenly empty and the knives she held faded from her hands. Angus's axe had vanished also. But Angus was no longer Angus; he was Cato. From the two wings of the Cornucopia emerged her father, Aella, Caderyn, Brutus, Enobaria, her prep team and Quintessa. Then, last but never least; her mother and Cato's parents. All were without weapons and they joined Cato and Clove as they were pressed against the back wall of the Cornucopia by the other, fallen tributes. As one, the tributes raised their weapons and charged-

"_Ow!"_

Clove gasped, jolting awake; her scream catching in her throat as she realised her nightmare was over, and remembered her surroundings. Slightly disorientated, she sat up and squinted at Cato, from whom she was sure the hiss of pain had come. As she narrowed her eyes further, she saw through the dim light that glowed from behind the living room curtains that he was clutching his left eye.

"Are you okay?" She asked. "What happened?"

"You punched me," Cato's tone held no resentment, merely mild amusement.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. It was a good punch. Strong, steady."

"Stop trying to make me feel good about punching you."

"Well, it was that, or making you feel bad," Cato smiled, dropping his hand from his eye as it ceased to water. "And it was an accident; you were trembling like anything when I woke up, then you started flailing around like a lunatic; then bam!"

Clove smiled apologetically. "I think you're going to get a black eye."

"I walked into the coatrack in my room," Cato replied smoothly.

"You're 6'2, and that coatrack is five foot at best." Clove pointed out.

"True…" Cato mused. He shrugged. "I'll think of something later. The truth can only lead to a lecture from my grandfather, and I do not need to hear _that_ again."

Clove laughed, her amusement fading away rapidly as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Cato swore softly, leaping up from the sofa bed and flipping behind an armchair. Clove lay down and pretended to be asleep, just as Effie arrived at the foot of the stairs, impeccably dressed and muttering about coffee cravings at five in the morning. She peered over at Clove as though satisfying herself that the girl was asleep, before tiptoeing across the room and down the small hallway that lead to the stock cupboard. Quick as a flash, Cato was over the back of the armchair and sprinting up the staircase, blowing a kiss to Clove as he passed.

Effie passed through the room again not long after, carrying what Clove considered to be a disproportionate amount of coffee for one person so early on in the day. Not wanting to alert Effie to her conscious state, Clove feigned sleep until her footsteps faded and then proceeded to read until Aella came down to see if she was awake before beginning breakfast.

"Morning," Cato's grandmother smiled at Clove as she helped her from the bed and up the staircase to the kitchen. "Sleep well?"

"Morning. Better than I have in a while," Clove replied, for despite her nightmare, this was true.

"Good." Aella smiled. "Oh, good morning Effie; you're up early!"

Effie drained a cup and reached for the coffee pot. "Good morning; yes, well; there's so much more air here than at home: I suppose it has something to do with that."

Caderyn was next to join them, and he was just starting on breakfast when Cato came in, a tank top thrown over his pyjama bottoms. The sight of his left eye made Caderyn's forkful of egg miss his mouth and fall to the floor.

"Oh my God, Cato your eye!" Clove exclaimed, partly for show and partly out of genuine shock at the rich deep blue and black bruise that covered it.

"Oh, yeah: you were right, grandmother," Cato smiled guiltily at Aella. "That shelf was unstable. It slipped in the night and the butt of the graphite sword statue you got me for my birthday hit me in the eye. Fortunately, I caught it before it could smash."

"What did I tell you?" Aella bought the story instantly. "Time and time again I said it wasn't safe."

"I know. By the way; morning everyone," Cato sat down beside Clove and kissed her cheek. "How'd you sleep?" he asked. _Aside from the nightmare, _his eyes added.

"Good," Clove smiled. "Better than usual. My pillow was exceptionally comfortable. How did you?"

"Yeah, good," Cato grinned, pouring a drink. "Better than usual, too, I'd say. Must've been the knowledge I didn't have to get up this morning."

"Yeah." Clove immersed herself in eating as Effie began a long anecdote about what someone had said about the necktie she had worn during the reaping in District 12 and how she had never been able to look at flowers the same way since, and as a result was slowly gravitating towards feathers.

As the two week period of healing time for Clove's ankle went by, Cato and Clove fell into a routine, which continued even once Cato returned to work. Around eleven thirty each night Cato would come downstairs and stay with Clove while she slept, hide behind the armchair as Effie came downstairs, then run upstairs once she'd passed and come down again later dressed for work as though he had been upstairs all night. They found that they both slept better when they were together, and gradually, Clove's nightmares lessened in severity and she no longer thrashed around when asleep when in his arms.

The Friday evening before Clove was set to leave for the Victory Tour, Cato returned from work, furious.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, throwing himself on to the sofa beside Clove. Clove pressed a button on the TV remote, pausing _Panems Next Top Couturier, _and turned to face him.

"What happened?"

"So for the past two weeks, I've been building up my ranking in the Elite Corps so I can be on your protection team and come with you on the Victory Tour and all the fancy stuff." Cato scowled. "They assign the two people with the highest ranking earned from the end of the Games to the day before the Tour to each Victor, and a vast majority of Victor's don't even know their team exists, because its members are dressed like any other Peacekeeper when they're around. Anyway, I'm at the top of the pack, guaranteed to be assigned, when Zale, the Head of the Corps, pulls me aside and says that he's had a phone call and he's very sorry, but despite my rank I can't be on your protection team. He said I'd be 'compensated' for my hard work, but he didn't give me a real reason why I've been overlooked."

"What?!" Clove exclaimed. "That's ridiculous! I'm going over to the training centre right now, and I'm going to tell him to shove his 'phone call' u-"

"I wouldn't," Cato interrupted, sniggering all the same. "I doubt it will change anything; the way he spoke it was as though he'd have to play around with the numbers a lot now to finalise your team in a manner that was above board, and he said he'd fought tooth and nail to keep me on the team."

Clove settled back into the sofa, only just mollified enough by this news as to not carry out her claim. "So you can't come," she frowned. "That sucks."

"Yeah," Cato agreed. "It does. Are you going to be okay with the nightmares?" he asked softly. "I checked, and they didn't count as a medical reason that I could argue you needed me for."

"I'll survive." Clove said. "It'll be hell, but I'll make it."

Effie swept into the room before he could reply, and asked if Clove wouldn't mind pressing play on _Panems Next Top Couturier_, for it was her favourite episode, and all conversation in the room ceased upon the completion of this request.

"I think you're ready to start walking without these," Aella told Clove later that night, unravelling the bandages around her ankle. "Perfect timing, isn't it? You'll be in fighting form for the Victory Tour tomorrow."

"Yeah," Clove bit her lip. "Before which I have to present my talent, that doesn't exist."

"Where did Enobaria get the painting from, anyway?" Cato asked. "I mean, let's be real, here: if the Games were a painting competition, you would've died in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia."

"Cato!" Effie exclaimed, appalled.

"No offense." Cato added, missing Effie's point completely.

"None taken," Clove shrugged. "I'd have outlived you at any rate."

Cato was forced to concede her point.

The following day, Aella and Caderyn took Effie on a tour of the District, which had changed dramatically since her last visit. They would've gone sooner, were it not for the fact that Caderyn received an order from the school for 250 swords- he was an acclaimed blacksmith- and the scale of the order took him the week to complete.

Cato and Clove elected to stay behind: Clove had to return to her own house at midday to get ready for the tour, and it was easier for her to get there from Cato's house on time, rather than be halfway across the district when she needed to leave; and Cato said, privately, that he needed a break from Effie; whose constant tales from the Capitol, and the fact that he had had to nurse her bunions twice had begun to drain him. Caderyn had immediately agreed that he needed a break because he was utterly convinced Cato was starting too bald from the strain of fighting a mental breakdown.

So it was that Cato and Clove waved goodbye to the adults from the kitchen window, Aella's instructions to eat something sensible at 10:30 ringing in their ears.

"AHA!" Cato cried, emerging from the stock cupboard at the instructed time, carrying what they had deemed sensible. "I found it!"

Clove grinned as they entered the kitchen. "Excellent… Cato?" A thought struck her.

"Mmm?"

"How do you cook popcorn?"

Cato paused. "Good question."

* * *

><p>"Here goes," Cato poured the jar of corn kernels into the pot to the rim and turned the stove up as high as possible, shoving the lid onto the pot. They waited. Nothing happened.<p>

"Huh," he grunted. "Now what?"

"Maybe we should add oil or something?" Clove suggested. "That's what you put in pots and pans and stuff, isn't it? Oil?"

"I think so," Cato fished around in a cupboard and found a selection of different kinds of oil. "We've got sunflower oil, canola oil, and vegetable oil. Which one should we use?"

"Hmm…Canola," Clove decided. "Because it starts with 'c' and popcorn has a 'c' in it."

"Nice logic." Cato sniggered, handing her the oil.

"You like it," Clove winked, pouring the oil over corn kernels and replacing the lid onto the pot. They waited.

_Pop! Pop! Pop-pop- pop-pop-pop-pop-pop! _

"Victory!" Cato cried, picking Clove up and spinning around the kitchen.

She laughed, grabbing his shoulders for support, "And you call _me _crazy."

"You are," he smirked. "I'm just deranged from hunger."

"You must be hungry a lot then," she smirked back, leaning down and kissing him before he could retort.

"CATO! CLOVE! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!" Enobaria's holler cut through the air, accompanied by loud banging on the front door. "I DON'T CARE IF YOU TWO ARE CURRENTLY EACH OTHER'S ONLY SOURCE OF OXYGEN, OPEN THIS DOOR BEFORE I BREAK IT DOWN!"

"What the hell?" Cato muttered, pulling away from Clove and dropping her carefully to her feet, before going to the front door. Clove followed curiously.

"Hello, darlings." Enobaria advanced into the house the second Cato opened the front door. Brutus followed, carrying several boxes. Cato shut the door quickly after him, but he assumed the small crowd that had gathered around his driveway had caught sight of Clove, for a cry of 'she's there!' floated into the house as he closed the door, locking it for good measure. "We bring Clove's talent!" Enobaria gestured to the boxes Brutus carried.

"Rather a violent announcement of arrival for an imaginary thing," Cato remarked, crossing to the stove and transferring the popcorn into a bowl, adding salt and butter.

"Shut up, Boyfriend." Enobaria ordered. Cato rolled his eyes, shoving popcorn into his mouth.

"'Boyfriend?'" Brutus asked.

"My name for him: justified, it seems, by what I saw from my bedroom window at ten fifteen on a Sunday night three weeks ago." Enobaria smirked as Cato and Clove reddened, remembering the day Haymitch had visited. Brutus shook his head, snickering, and dropped the boxes onto the counter top.

"What is my talent, anyway?" Clove joined Cato as he leant against the sink and reached into the bowl of popcorn, grabbing a handful and eating it.

"Painting," Enobaria said, ripping a box open with her teeth, revealing a stack of canvases.

"I've told you; I can't paint." Clove said for what seemed the millionth time.

"Who said anything about painting?" Enobaria grinned.

"You did: just now."

"Details," Enobaria waved a hand, ripping open the other boxes. Soon, the counter top was filled with canvases, paints, water balloons, thumbtacks and knives.

Clove picked up a knife and frowned at it. "These knives are squared off."

"I know." Enobaria grinned. "Here's the plan: you take some of these water balloons and fill them with paint. Then, you pin them to the canvases with the thumbtacks by the bit above the knot, and throw the knives at them, making the paint leak down the canvas. This will create a picture of absolutely no visual distinction, to which you will add a deeply philosophical caption that makes no sense, yet somehow gives the painting a meagre grain of a half-formed sense of significance that will give whatever poor sod in the Capitol that pays millions for it at an auction the illusion that they are a person of great intellect, and not just a moron who got swindled by a victor."

Clove swallowed another mouthful of popcorn. "I'm in."

* * *

><p>"You, babe, are an artistic prodigy." Cato informed his girlfriend, some three quarters of an hour later.<p>

"Thank you," Clove grinned, approaching her fifteenth effort and beginning to remove the water balloons, smearing the paint over the white patches with the knives. "I shall call this one… 'Abyss.'"

Cato scrawled the name into a notebook. "Okay; why?"

"Becaaause," Clove dragged the word out thoughtfully. "…It represents the struggle to wear orange when it's Wednesday; and on Wednesday your friends wear pink."

"Struggle to wear orange when on Wednesday friends wear pink." Cato murmured, scribbling the 'philosophical meaning', down on the paper. He ripped the fragment he had written on apart from the rest of the page and handed it to her. Clove laid it in front of the canvas and sank down on to the training room floor beside Cato, pushing her hair from her eyes, very much over being an artist.

"I've done enough," she declared.

"What are you going to do with the money you make?" Cato asked curiously.

Clove shrugged. "Give it to the district; I don't need it." She picked at a loose thread on her t-shirt. "I'm dreading the Victory Tour. The scripted stuff I can say fine, it's just the personal stuff…" she trailed off, twisting the thread around her fingers.

"You've got, what, five, six people to speak about?" Cato asked, flipping to a fresh page in the notebook. "Does Peeta Mellark count?"

"I guess so," Clove frowned. "We were allies for a bit. I've got to speak about him, Angus, Glimmer, Marvel, the girl from 4- what was her name?"

"Errr…" Cato thought back. "Ariadne."

"Yeah, her and the boy from 3; wait I think I know his name!" Clove held up a finger as Cato opened his mouth to tell her. "Ummm… James?"

"Javas. You were close-ish." Cato added the name to the list he had written, and handed the notebook and pen to Clove. "How about you think of something you admired about each person, put it into a sentence and say that?"

"Good idea," Clove shifted so her head now rested against his stomach. Resting her the notebook so it was at eye level against her thighs, she chewed the end of the pen thoughtfully. Cato played with her hair as she wrote, lost in thought.

"How'd you spell 'compassionate'?" Clove murmured five minutes later, bringing Cato back to earth.

"C-O-M-P-A-S-S-I-O-N-A-T-E."

"Thanks."

"Mmm."

"Done," Clove announced, holding the notebook up so he could read what she had put. "It's not very descriptive, but what'd you reckon?" she asked, reaching for the bowl beside her and finishing off the popcorn.

Cato scanned the page.

_Angus: _ _Strong, good with axe, died having time of life._

_Glimmer: Beautiful, level headed, multiple skills; bow + arrow, hand to hand knife, sword, etc._

_Marvel: funny, one of best spear throwers I've ever known._

_Ariadne: Quiet, voice of reason: adma- admirable trait._

_Javas: Clever, __ringing- __rigging mines to protect food._

_Peeta: __Compos- __Campas- __ Compassionate; e.g. caring about __Twelve girl-__ Katniss in arena._

"That's good; not over the top, but reminiscent of their qualities."

Clove yawned suddenly and frowned. "Oh, no."

"What?"

"I just reminded myself that I'm sleeping on a train tonight, and will be for the next two weeks."

"Oh yeah," Cato grimaced.

"How many more hours of freedom do I have left?"

Cato checked his watch and swore. "We have to leave _right now_."

"Clove, dear!" Trariti threw open Clove's front door, as Clove and Cato crossed her front garden. "How nice to see you again!" she smiled, grabbing Clove's arm and dragging her through door with surprising strength. "Come, come we're on a schedule! You two can say goodbye later."

The front door was closed before either teen could react.

* * *

><p>"Gah!" Clove tripped and nearly face planted into the hallway an hour later, dressed in a simple red dress that finished just above her knees and five inch heeled black ankle boots.<p>

"Careful!" Quintessa snickered, leading Clove's prep team in their following Clove down the stairs. "You'll smear your lipstick!"

"Do I have to wear these?" Clove pointed to the boots. "Can't I wear normal shoes?"

"No, you look gorgeous." Quintessa stepped around Clove advanced into the hall.

"I can barely walk!" Clove protested as she held the wall for support.

"Then learn how to: _honestly_." Enobaria rolled her eyes, her own six inch heels clicking on the tiled floor as she strutted down the hall from the kitchen, Brutus beside her.

"_Honestly_," Clove mimicked, annoyed.

"Manners, Clove!" Trariti swept into the hall, a clipboard in one hand and a whistle around her neck; cutting off Enobaria's retort. She blew her whistle. "Itinerary check!

"We've shot the talent?" Everyone nodded. "Check."

"Victor and mentors ready?" Nods. "Check."

"Train and crowd assembled? Those closest waiting?" Trariti spoke into a headpiece. "Check. We're out!"

Cameras and a sleek black car awaited them outside Clove's house. Clove waved and smiled winningly for the cameras as she walked towards the car and entered the car, inwardly praying she didn't stack it and vowing to ceremoniously burn the boots the moment she had the chance.

District Two sped past the windows, a blur of mountains, villages, and six story semi-detached houses.

The occupants of Two crowded around the train station, screaming, waving and applauding, whether for the cameras or a genuine desire to see their Victors, Clove was never sure.

The first thing Clove noticed was that her 'those closest' as Trariti put it, were in a line. First her father, then Aella, Caderyn and Cato. Cato was nearest both the train and the cameras, and judging by the look he shot her as she stepped out of the car after Brutus and Enobaria, who waved to the crowd and went and stood by the train door, he had noticed the line too.

"Look at you," he grinned teasingly at her as she approached him. "You come up to my nose in those boots. Just."

"Shut up."

"Aaah, and the illusion of the elegant, mysterious beauty is abruptly shattered. As is my heart." Cato laughed, hugging her.

"Aww, so sad." Clove hugged him back sniggering. "I'm going to miss you, you moron," she whispered, so softly she knew only he would hear her.

"I'm going to miss you too, you stupid idiot." He replied just as softly. "Oh, for God's sake: I'm going to regret it if I don't…" he trailed off, leaning down and kissing her. Clove kissed him back and the screams and applause from the district intensified.

"You got a little lipstick…everywhere." She murmured smiling, pulling away as Enobaria tapped her on the shoulder. "Yeah, I'm coming!" Clove rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, you are." Enobaria grabbed her wrist and dragged her towards the train.

Clove waved goodbye to her district through the train window, barely listening to Trariti's recital of the schedule. A small stab of anxiety writhed in her stomach as she realised their first stop was District Twelve, where Haymitch was expecting her decision about whether or not she was going to join the rebellion.

A decision she herself had yet to make.

**A/N: Please review! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or anything else that may be referenced. **

**A/N: Colossal thank you to you all. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! :)**

**Chapter 6**

_Clove waved goodbye to her district through the train window, barely listening to Trariti's recital of the schedule. A small stab of anxiety writhed in her stomach as she realised their first stop was District Twelve, where Haymitch was expecting her decision about whether or not she was going to join the rebellion._

_A decision she herself had yet to make._

"Clove!" A boy of about nineteen with sandy blonde hair and lively brown eyes exclaimed, as he and a dark skinned, black haired, level headed looking man of around twenty-one sat down on adjacent armchairs before her. "Remember us?"

"Olis, right?" Clove remembered. "And Ardal. Cato's friends."

"That's us," Olis beamed. "We're your protection team. We're going to be stalking you from now on."

"You have such a way with words," Ardal sighed, shaking his head.

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Dude!" Olis clutched his heart. "You wound me!"

Ardal rolled his eyes. "Anyway… We get that it must suck for you, not having Cato here."

"Yeah, well 'phone calls'." Clove grimaced.

"I'm surprised you haven't flipped out on Trariti Krimnet yet." Olis said.

"_Oli_s_!_" Ardal hissed as Clove's head snapped towards his friend, very much alert.

"What are you talking about?" Clove asked, now looking from one member of her protection team to the other, her tone making it perfectly clear she wasn't going to drop the matter.

Ardal looked uncomfortable. "Well, er, Olis and I, we help Zale with the administration stuff for the Corps; to get a little extra money, and we were there yesterday when Trariti Krimnet called; asking who your protection team was. She said she'd heard from a 'reliable source' that it might not be the, er, best of ideas to have you and Cato on a train together for two weeks, er, relatively unsupervised."

"…_Oh_." Anger boiled inside her as she realised Trariti's 'reliable source' could only be one person: Effie Trinket. Clove wished she could shove Trariti and Effie into the arena, and see how they handled the nightmares alone. "I'm going to _kill_-"

"No killing on tour, CLOOOOVVEEE!" Enobaria sang, dancing into the carriage, barefoot. "BRUTUS, DARLING; GET ME A DRINK!" she screamed over her shoulder. "Ah, protection team!" she beamed at them, sitting down on top of Clove, curling her legs over the armrest of the chair. "I'm Enobaria."

"Get…off…me!" Clove tried to push her off, but to no avail.

"No." Enobaria smirked as Brutus entered the carriage, carrying a tray. "Thank you darling." She accepted a glass from Brutus and took a deep sip. "Oh, I have missed this," she grinned at the clear liquid in the glass as Brutus set the tray on a side table and sat in the armchair beside Clove. "What are you two staring at?" she directed this at Olis and Ardal, who looked rather stunned.

"Nothing," Ardal answered, grabbing Olis' arm. "We'll be going now."

"Yeah…Going…We'll...Be." Olis murmured, staring at Brutus.

"_Now!" _Ardal pulled his friend from the carriage.

"They're normal," Clove reassured Enobaria and Brutus as the door slid shut behind Ardal and Olis. "I think they were just star struck."

"Fair enough," Enobaria got up and sprawled across their vacated armchairs. "So who are you killing?"

"Oh, no one," Clove shook her head. "I wasn't serious."

"Sure?" Brutus pressed. "You looked it."

Clove was saved from replying by a Capitol attendant, announcing dinner.

The train moved with unnerving silence. Clove lay in bed later that night; wide awake and rather annoyed by this fact. If only the train rattled once in a while, it wouldn't remind her so forcefully of the calm stillness of the arena at night. The stillness had given her time to think. And thinking was the last thing she wanted to do… Yet like in the arena, she had no choice.

Once again, Clove's thoughts drifted to Haymitch and the rebellion.

"…_You can join the rebellion and be the face-openly defying the Capitol-or you can refuse and we'll forget this whole conversation happened and you can live your life as normal, until such a time that the rebellion begins and your whole world is torn to irreversible shreds… Your choice, sweetheart…"_

_Your choice_… But what was she to choose? Clove stiffened as the quiet of the train was disrupted by the opening of a door. Sitting up and glancing at the clock beside the bed she saw it was one in the morning. Slightly unnerved, Clove slid out of bed and glanced around the room, looking for something she could use as a weapon, and wishing she had a knife. A desk stood in the corner of the room; Clove crossed to it and began to look through the drawers. She grinned as she found an elaborate silver letter opener, with a wickedly sharp looking blade. Her weapon clutched tightly in her hand, Clove tiptoed across the room and peered through the peep hole of the compartment door. Relief washed through her as she saw it was only Brutus. Her relief was quickly replaced by puzzlement, then annoyance as she saw that Brutus was carrying Enobaria, who was trailing kisses along his jawline.

"_Double. Godforsaken. Standard." _Clove thought, returning to bed; fuming inwardly and throwing the letter opener at the wall, where it stuck between two panels.

The night passed, filled with a succession of back to back nightmares that only ended with Enobaria bursting through the door to her room, convinced Clove was being murdered.

* * *

><p>"ARDAL! WAKE UP!"<p>

"Huh?!" Ardal sat up in bed, three days later.

"We're here, dude! District 12!" Olis grabbed his arm and pulled him out of bed. "Get up! You gotta see this!"

"Olis, chill." Ardal rolled his eyes, reaching for his dressing gown, shivering at the sudden cold. "Twelve's a really lax-"

"Lax?" Olis interrupted, staring at him. "That's it, dude, I'm buying you a definition thingy… Thesaurus."

"Dictionary." Ardal corrected.

"Whatever! Same thing," Olis called over his shoulder as he left the compartment. "Hurry up!"

"It's not actually- oh never mind," Ardal shrugged his dressing gown on and followed Olis from the room curiously. For _Olis_ of all people to say he needed a _dictionary…_

"Hey, Ardal," Clove grinned at him over her shoulder, despite the heavy bags around her eyes, as Olis lead him to the window of the dinning carriage. "Check this place out."

More curious than ever, Ardal joined them at the window. He had read about each district a little before the tour, and knew the Twelve was a poor district, rather lacking in disciplinal force.

His jaw dropped.

The fence that rose up from the snow coated ground looked newly repaired, heightened and very much electrified, so much so that they felt the hum in the train as it passed. The train ran a steady course around the district towards the train station, passing streets full of squat, wooden houses covered in snow. Each street was lined with immaculate, white clad Peacekeepers, who stared out at the soot covered miners that trenched their way down the streets, the dirt and grime that covered them forcing them to stick out like sore thumbs against the pristine white of their surroundings.

The train surged along the tracks; bringing them past what was clearly the more upmarket area of District Twelve. Surrounding a large square and towered over by the Justice Building, were multiple two story semi-detached buildings; the ground floor of each a shop of respective talent. These shops clearly once radiated a warm glow of life and trade, but now they stood sombre, the treats that filled their windows untempting to the Peacekeepers and freshly cleaned looking whipping posts that stood motionless around the square.

"Wouldn't want to step out of line here, would you?" Olis murmured.

Clove shook her head. "I thought Twelve was the bottom of the barrel security wise."

"Me too," Ardal agreed, shocked at the reality. "But apparently not anymore."

"Morning you three- Clove!" Trariti exclaimed.

"What?" Clove asked, turning.

"Why aren't you dressed?"

"I am… technically." Clove gestured to her outfit: a blue V-neck long sleeved shirt and ankle length leggings. "My prep team aren't up yet."

"Honestly," Trariti clicked her tongue as breakfast was brought in. "Seven thirty, I told them!" she bustled from the carriage.

"M-morning," Enobaria stifled a yawn as she strutted into the carriage, as immaculate as ever. "God; Twelve was a dump during my tour." She sniffed, grabbing a slice of toast and going to the window.

Clove had scarcely bit into a chocolate croissant before it was wrenched from her grasp and Axel, Duvessa and Malaika dragged her to her room to prepare her for her speech. Fortunately, it was freezing in Twelve, so they only had to do her makeup and hair before crawling back to bed and leaving her with Quintessa, who soon had only to add a knee length grey coat to the outfit.

Quintessa reached inside the garment bag and pulled out a sheath of knives encased in a flat holder. "Unbutton your coat." She instructed. Clove did so and Quintessa secured the sheath around her stomach. "You'll wear this with every outfit; just in case." Quintessa muttered, buttoning up the coat again. "You're free to go."

"Thank you." Clove left in search of food, feeling as though the knife sheath was something she should keep to herself.

"...Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever." Clove concluded her speech and waved to Twelve the way she had the arena, before turning and heading inside the Justice Building, flanked by Brutus, Enobaria, Olis and Ardal, to a smattering of applause.

"Everything okay?" Brutus asked the senior of the protection team.

"Officially, yes." Ardal nodded. "But unofficially: Twelve girl's cousin, the oldest one, had a nasty look about him."

"Tall, broad and muscular, dark hair, grey eyes?" Enobaria rattled off. Ardal nodded. "A very attractive young miner," she continued. "Rather… _unconventional_ in character towards Panem in general I should think. Like Katniss Everdeen, but more so. And they're not cousins," she added as an afterthought. "The other grey eyed children looked sad, but not distraught, as family would."

"Hello, everyone."

"Haymitch." Clove nodded in greeting, turning to face him. He looked more or less sober.

"May I show you the garden?" He offered her his arm. "Some say it's beautiful this time of year. I disagree."

"I'd be delighted."

"Don't worry, I won't kill her," Haymitch waved away Olis and Ardal as they made to follow them.

"It's fine." Clove said to them as Haymitch led her down a corridor and out a back door. "Bad joke."

"What do you think?" Haymitch asked, as they walked around the garden. "Hideous, do you agree?" he gestured around at the snow covered trees and flower beds.

"No," She spoke firmly. "I think they're beautiful."

He sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'd hoped you'd agree with me, sweetheart." Turning on his heel, he led her back to the Justice Building, and disappeared once within.

Following Twelve, the Victory Tour fell into a blur of days spent making speeches and dropping seemingly innocent comments here and there to Brutus and Enobaria, and nights filled with parties and nightmares. Trariti gave Clove some sleeping pills that did nothing but make waking from the horrors harder. The celebrations in the Capitol passed in a whirl of feathers, knife shaped accessories and _Clove's Collectio_n lipstick-_now with flavours!_ - Until finally, the train pulled away from the Capitol, heading for District Two.

"HOOOMMMMEEEE! THANK GOD!" Enobaria cackled as the train pulled into the station. "Oh, I am _exhausted_!"

"_You're_ exhausted? Really?" Brutus opened his eyes wide. "Oh, yes, forgive me; doing nothing for two weeks is so tiring. Positively draining."

"Oh, shut up." Enobaria finished yet another glass of clear white liquid, which Clove now suspected to be of the same variety she had discovered to be the favourite of Haymitch.

Following the dinner at the mayor of Two's house, Clove's father walked her home at around 10:15pm. Brutus and Enobaria had left early, and Cato, Aella and Caderyn, not being strictly family, had been unable to attend the event.

"Why is it so… isolate?" Clove asked, supressing a shiver that had nothing to do with the sharp wind that sprung up as they walked through the district, and everything to with the empty streets and drawn curtains, behind which lights glowed only dimly.

"We have a new Head Peacekeeper," her father spoke softly. "Sawyer Sethos."

Clove snorted. "Ssssawyer Sssethosssss." She hissed in an accent not dissimilar to that of those in the Capitol. "Try saying that ten times in a row."

"It's no laughing matter," her father frowned, though the corners of his lips twitched. "He's from the Capitol; born and bred. First thing he did upon arrival was instate a 10:30 curfew, with complete silence by 11:30."

"What? Why?"

"God knows." Her father shrugged. "It was broken almost instantly- guess who by?"

"Cato." Clove answered immediately. Her father nodded. "What'd he do?"

"He got picked up sneaking out of the Training Centre: said he'd been training and lost track of time; security footage confirmed it."

"What's so bad about that?" Clove asked. "It happens all the time, to everyone."

"I know, but Sethos wasn't impressed. Cato got a warning, and he was awfully distraught, as you can imagine: went and bought a new mace the next day to celebrate." Her father grinned. "He came to see me the other day, you know, Cato did. Said he had something to ask me."

"What?"

"He told me you'd been having nightmares; and he'd been helping you sleep." Clove's father smirked as Clove reddened. "He asked me if it would be okay if he continued to help you when you got back from the Victory Tour and moved back to the Victors Village. I knocked him out- no, I'm joking," he chuckled. "We had a discussion, he gave me his word on a few things, and I said you could have the final say; it's your house, after all."

"Thank you," Clove said softly.

He father smiled as a thought struck him. "Caderyn's going to have a field day."

"Oh, God." Clove cringed as they crossed the Victor's Village.

"They've raised security in Twelve," she blurted out spontaneously as she hugged her father goodbye.

She wasn't sure what kind of a reaction she expected, but her father merely raised an eyebrow a fraction as he pulled away. "How interesting. See you at the Harvest Festival tomorrow; love you."

"See you, you too." Clove let herself into her house as her father crunched down the driveway. A sudden strong wave of exhaustion sweeping through her, Clove kicked her high heels off and ran upstairs to her bedroom, for once temporarily forgetting about her nightmares, remembering just as a nightmare eclipsed her the second she sprawled, fully dressed, across the bed.

_RRRRIIINNNNGGGG!_

The chime of the doorbell awoke her, just as the arrow pierced her mother in the heart. Clove dragged herself off the bed and went downstairs to answer it, caring little about the wrinkles in the floor length blue dress, or her wild hair and the make-up that ran down her face, curtesy of the tears that came hand in hand with the nightmares.

Quintessa and her prep team cared enough for the entire population of Panem, or so Clove discovered when she opened the door, and she was forced to listen to them ranting about the importance of taking care of oneself for fifteen minutes before she could get a word in edgeways and present them with so elaborate an apology, she was convinced even Effie Trinket would like her had she heard it.

Her hair pulled into a simple ponytail and wearing makeup so faint, aside from the typical blood red lipstick, it was hardly noticeable; Clove eyed Quintessa anxiously as a smirk crossed her stylist's face. Clove stood before her, dressed in black jeans and a black parka with a white faux fur collar that looked real, dreading the moment a pair of five inch heels would be pulled from the garment bag. Quintessa held up a pair of sturdy black heelless boots and Clove grinned, relieved.

"Now look at yourself in the mirror." Quintessa instructed as Clove finished tying her shoelaces and stood up.

"Okay…" Clove did so.

"How do you feel?"

"Confused."

Quintessa rolled her eyes. "Look at yourself, and tell me what you feel when you do."

"…Normal-ish." Clove replied.

"Perfect. One last thing," Quintessa reached for a small white lipstick tube and unscrewed the lid, revealing a colourless balm. "Stretch your mouth like you do for lipstick." She ordered, applying the balm over the lipstick.

"What's that stuff?" Clove asked as Quintessa recapped the tube.

"A recent invention. I call it 'Tarry'; it holds the lipstick in place. Now come on, you've got a party to attend."

"Haven't I always?" Clove sighed dramatically, allowing herself to be pulled from the room.

Quintessa winked at her over her shoulder. "Something tells me you might actually enjoy this one."

* * *

><p>The Harvest Festival was in full swing. The cameras broadcasted only Clove's arrival, for both the districts and the Capitol were celebrating the event; the Capitol more because it was a reason to party, rather than because of the food, like the districts. The camera's departed quickly, but left behind an orchestra, a face painter, acrobat and several stands full and parcels of food. Clove had snuck away from the crowd of people that filled the square in front of the Justice Building as soon as she could, and currently stood alone in a corner of the square, by the wall of a shop that was concealed by the shadows formed by the sharp lights provided by the Capitol, watching the district dance, sing and eat; enjoying obscurity.<p>

"Excuse me, but I don't think we've met."

His voice was smooth, with not a hint of amusement, but Clove could see his eyes laughing at her.

"No," she replied, tilting her head to the side as Cato slipped into the corner of obscurity beside her. "I don't think we have."

"You'll forgive me for coming over to you like this, but you remind me of someone." Cato continued.

"Do I?"

"Yeah, my girlfriend, Clove." He smirked, considering her. "But you see, two weeks ago, Clove went on this tour thing. I've only ever seen her on TV since; and she, for the most part, wore these dresses -which was fine, I liked them- and these crazy tall high heels -which was also fine, but not as fine, because I could tell she hated the heels. But the weird thing is that she was so polite to everyone all the time and always had this weird stuff on her face that made her look like an alien-"

"I did not look like an alien, you moronic dung head."

"Clover! Where did you come from?" Cato grinned.

"The Capitol," she deadpanned.

"Ah! That explains the alien alikeness." he lowered his voice at this, so only she could hear. "Fortunately, I like aliens."

"You should." She snickered, leaning up and kissing him, tangling her finger in his hair. His arms slid around her as they fell back against the wall into the shadows, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss.

"BOYFRIEND!"

Enobaria jumped out of nowhere, drunk and giggly.

"Enobaria," Cato raised his eyebrows, looking mildly annoyed by her interruption, as well as slightly concerned at her state.

"How _wonderful _to see you again," she giggled, somehow remaining upright as she swayed dangerously on her high heels.

"Enny, there you are!" Brutus sounded relieved. "Oh, er, hi," his neck reddened as he caught sight of Cato and Clove. "Didn't see you there."

"Cato was about to ask Clove to dance," Enobaria declared with childlike simplicity as the Capitol orchestra struck a slow tune.

"What? No-"

"ShutupCatoyesyouwere," Enobaria garbled, grabbing hold of him and Clove and dragging them over to the centre of the makeshift dance floor before the steps of the Justice Building, pushing her way through the crowd with surprising force for someone so intoxicated. "Now slow dance!" she commanded, dropping their arms and folding her own across her chest. Cato and Clove stared at her. "Slow dance or I'll rip open your throats!" she bared her teeth and took a step towards them threateningly.

"Okay!" The two held each other at arm's length and began to sway softly to the music, seeing Brutus making his way towards them.

Enobaria scowled. "What are you two? Total strangers? Dance properly!" she drew back her top lip, sticking out her fangs. "That's better!" she smirked as they stepped closer; Cato wrapping his arms around Clove's waist as her arms slid around his neck. "Ah, Brutus, finally!" Enobaria beamed upon his arrival. "Dance with me!" She pulled him to her before he could reply and looked him dead in the eye, leaving him with no choice but to comply.

"Hey Ardal, check it out." Olis nodded to the dance floor. Ardal followed his gaze and saw Cato and Clove slow dancing. Strangely, it looked as though colour was just returning to their cheeks.

"Now, kiss!" Baethan, Olis' 17 year old brother materilised at his sibling's side, also staring over at the dance floor. "What?" he asked, as Olis raised an eyebrow at him. "I've got money on this."

A deep chuckle made the three jump. "How much?" Caderyn approached them.

"Dude!" Olis pointed at him. "You're Caderyn Velmere: the blacksmith!"

"The man, the myth, the legend." Caderyn flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his collar. He smirked amusedly as Baethan leaned forward expectantly as Clove leaned up towards Cato.

Cato lowered his head towards hers as she murmured:

"If we ran for it, and you went left and I went right, who do you think Enobaria would chase after first?"

He frowned thoughtfully. "You, probably; because I'm guessing you've got knives on you, so you pose more of a threat."

"Would you try and help me?"

"Absolutely not." Cato looked affronted at the very idea. "You'd be on your own a hundred percent, and quite possibly survive at that. Besides, have you _seen_ how sharp Enobaria's teeth are? Think of what they would do to my face if I tried to help you."

Clove sniggered. "Did it ever cross your mind that it might be an improvement?"

"To you, yes." Cato retorted smirking. "Have you noticed that Baethan Kade is ogling at us?"

"Baethan Kade?" Clove repeated.

"Olis' brother. You know, that guy from school who bets on everything and everyone?" Cato reminded her.

"Oh, him. I threw a knife at him once…" Clove mused, glancing around them. "Look!" she lowered her voice and pointed. Cato looked where she indicated and grinned. Enobaria was slumped against Brutus, her head hanging over his shoulder, clearly asleep. Brutus appeared not to have noticed.

"Want to get out of here?" Cato asked.

"Yeah." Clove nodded and they slipped from the dance floor, heading over to where Caderyn stood with the others. "Dancing's not my thing."

"It could've been worse."

She smiled. "Yours, too. Who knew Enobaria could be so terrifying drunk?"

"Was she drunk?" Cato feigned surprise. "I hadn't noticed. Speaking of drunk," he continued as Clove laughed. "You saw Haymitch in Twelve didn't you?" his tone was light, but his eyes sharp, curious.

"Yep. He showed me around the gardens of their Justice Building; said he thought they were hideous, and asked me if I agreed. I said no."

"No?" Cato repeated, raising his eyebrows. "Why?"

"I didn't want to risk causing offense; someone could have overheard."

"It's probably for the best," he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "How'd he take it?"

"He said he was sorry to hear it."

"He'll survive." Cato kissed her temple.

"Yes! Fifteen bucks to me!" Baethan cheered as they approached.

"You need help," Olis informed his brother. "Like physiotherapist help."

"Psychologist," Ardal corrected under his breath.

"Same thing." Olis caught the mutter.

"No it is-"

"Excuse me, Miss Marcan?"

The group turned, Cato's hand tightening a little on Clove's shoulder at the voice.

A 4'9 inch, rather overweight man of about forty-nine to fifty-two stood before them, dressed in a white Peacekeeper uniform, the shoulders of which were ornamented with small medals of achievement and rank. His brown hair was cropped close to his head and grey streaked along the left side part line. He had a high forehead and a narrow, spiteful, yet rather weak looking chin and jawline. His small round eyes were so light a grey they were nearly white; his nose was large and square and its shadow concealed all but the corners of his wide, thin-lipped mouth. Overall, he was rather comical in appearance, but the well-practised air of great superiority mixed with the natural air of general cruelty he exuded more than overshadowed this, to the point of alteration.

"Yes?" Clove asked.

"I'm the new Head Peacekeeper of District Two: Sawyer Sethos." The man said. "I thought I should come an introduce myself."

"Oh, yes, Head Peacekeeper Sethos," Clove shook his hand, trying her upmost not to hiss his name in a stupid accent as temptation called. "My father mentioned you; but it's a… pleasure to finally meet you." The pause before pleasure was brief, but there. Cato smiled softly as Clove nestled into his side, slipping her arm around his waist. She eyed Sethos the way she had the teenagers that had followed them through the market, and those in the arena.

"The pleasure is all mine I assure you," Sethos replied. "You say your father mentioned me, did he perhaps, mention the first of my new, ah, security measures?"

"_You mean that unnecessary and stupid as hell curfew that's purely designed to make you feel special, - even though it makes you look like more of a controlling jerk than you do in appearance- in the unlikely event any of your imaginary friends from the Capitol decide to come and visit and you have to show them around?" _Clove thought, but did not voice this. Instead, she said a slight edge to her voice:

"Yes, he mentioned it."

Sethos' gaze flickered upwards from her face to Cato, and a faint glimmer of understanding appeared in his eyes. He returned his gaze to Clove and his mouth twisted into a very painful looking smile. Clove immediately beamed back, forcing him to prolong smiling and continue to do so as he spoke.

"I trust you will see the necessity of my security measures, and set a good example for the district."

"_Never in a million years_."

"Naturally. After all," she laughed. "I'm sure we shall all enjoy our lives a lot more without the stress of such things as the time to return home at night plaguing us. It's the small stuff that makes all the difference to one's life, as I'm sure you'll agree."

"Quite," Sethos bowed. "Have a good evening."

"And you, sir." Clove responded, inching her head. She made a face at Sethos' retreating back at caught her father's eye as he came over to the group. "What?" she asked innocently.

He shook his head. "Playing with fire, you are."

"I was polite."

"Yeah, it was weird." Cato backed her up. Caderyn, Olis, Ardal and even Baethan nodded.

Clove's father laughed. "Just be careful. Sethos means business."

"Sssethossss needs a life."

"That may be true," her father allowed. "But until such a time as he gets one, he has all the cards. Remember that. Now, Caderyn, the school sword master's asking to see you."

Caderyn sighed, and feel into step with Clove's father as he walked away. "Alcaeus, I've told him a thousand times..."

The harvest festival ended not long after, and the second the Capitol people had boarded the train Sethos was ordering the district home, saying he expected complete silence in approximately half an hour.

"He's going to be real popular," Clove remarked to Cato as they headed through the district.

"Everyone loves him already; can't you tell?" Cato gestured to a piece of nearby graffiti: a very unflattering caricature of Sethos. Another, beside it, depicted Sethos falling into a pit of vipers. Clove laughed.

"I'm almost jealous." She stifled a yawn as she spoke. "God, I am so glad to be home. No trains or cameras for three whole months. I feel normal again. Or as normal as I can feel."

"That's my line," Cato mock-glared at her.

"Why do think I said it?" She smirked as they passed under the archway that announced the beginning of the Victors Village. "My father told me you came to see him; told him about my nightmares and how you help."

"You okay with that?"

"I'm grateful," she smiled as she unlocked her front door, stepping aside to let him indoors. "Because now I can actually sleep at night."

* * *

><p>A week later found Cato, Clove and Clove's father at Cato's grandparents for dinner. It was a scene they all were no strangers too, except this time Caderyn had 'borrowed' Cato's Peacekeeper helmet to protect him from Aella, who was prone to poking him in the head at his every ninth or tenth sentence. He and Aella had been fine with Cato sleeping at Clove's, providing he came home before work each morning, but that hadn't stopped Caderyn from passing many a pleasant hour in his workshop below the training room; thinking up countless, decidedly inappropriate, sly comments as he worked. Cato and Clove, for their part, demonstrated their extreme maturity by flicking peas at each other across the table when Aella wasn't looking.<p>

After they had eaten, they all retired into the living room, following an announcement that a very special broadcast was about to occur. Caderyn and Aella sat in their respective armchairs, Clove's father took one sofa, and Cato and Clove the other. Cato wrapped his arms comfortingly around Clove as she curled up in his lap, chewing her lip anxiously as they waited for the broadcast to begin. Caderyn opened his mouth, a comment prepared, but caught Aella's eye and thought better of it.

Over in the Victors Village, Enobaria entered Brutus's house with the aid of the spare key. She found him waiting for her in his living room. Wordlessly, she sank down beside him and accepted a glass of liquor. In truth she rarely drank, but in certain matters she required a crutch.

Lyme hung up her phone and replaced it onto its hook. She glanced out of her window as she passed through her hallway and saw that Clove's house was in darkness. "_Must not be back yet," _she thought, entering her dining room, which was at the front of her house; as the living room was in Clove's. Lyme sat straight backed in a dining chair and drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the polished wooden surface of the dining table. She could see Brutus and Enobaria across the street, sitting close in an armchair, drinking.

"Three…Two…One," Lyme murmured sardonically as the Capitol seal illuminated the once blank TV screen, and the anthem blared.

"Showtime," Haymitch snarled, wading through the layers garbage on his living room floor and popping the cap on a bottle.

Caesar Flickerman filled every television screen in Panem. He was standing outside the Capitol's training centre before a lectern, in front of a standing crowd that was cheering and applauding; his hair and eyebrows dyed a light lavender. "Good evening Panem!" he beamed at the country excitedly. "You join me tonight for a very exciting event: the reading of the card! As you are no doubt aware, the 75th anniversary of the Hunger Games approaches, and with that comes the Third Quarter Quell! Panem tonight, I have the great, the very great, honour of presenting to you our President: Coriolanus Snow, who will introduce the twist that will mark 75 years since the defeat of the rebellion, and will take form in the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games!"

The TV screens divided into two shots, one depicting the applauding, cheering Capitol residents, and the other President Snow as he crossed into view, a small boy dressed in white carrying a wooden box behind him.

The screens switched back to the front of the Training Centre and Caesar stepped out of sight as President Snow took centre stage behind the lectern.

"This is the Seventy-fifth year of the Hunger Games," he began. "Upon the instatement of the tradition, it was declared that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that no matter the strength of their numbers, or might of their weapons, the Capitol will always emerge victorious. On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying as a result of their choosing to fight, each district was required to vote for those that were to represent them in the arena. On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that two of their number died for every Capitol citizen, twice the number of tributes from each district were required to be reaped." Snow paused momentarily for breath. "Today, we honour the seventy-fifth anniversary; and a new Quarter Quell." The small boy in white lifted the wooden box up to the president, the lid open; revealing thousands of little yellow envelopes.

Carefully, Snow reached inside the box and plucked the one marked with a '75' from amongst its fellows. Opening the flap, he pulled out a small square of thick white paper. Snow considered the words for the slightest of seconds, before reading aloud, his voice thundering around the silent nation of Panem:

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that the Capitol triumphs over all people, great or otherwise; the tributes are to be reaped from two pools: one from a pool of citizens aged 12 to 18, and the other from the existing pool of Victors."

**A/N: Please review! :)**


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